10 Rhulinn. The fifteenth day of the eleventh month.
‘More! More! Do not falter!’
This was the third consecutive day of battle, the two sides having been in a stalemate for the past few months without any major progress. Despite whatever tactics the Trelvenese employed in their repeated attacks, the Rhinish held firm in a terrain that perfectly suited their tactics: plains.
As the largest and most populous country in the eastern continents, the kingdom of Rhinn had long prided itself on its enormous yet surprisingly mobile armies, particularly its feared light cavalry. Despite being often on the defensive in its decades-long war against Trelven, not once had the Rhinish troops conceded the region of Prentdor, a land known for its valuable mines but also for its dry, stretching plains.
This day of battle was no different than before. Pinning down the enemy with the infantry before slowly whittling the numbers down with the cavalry was a simple yet destructive tactic used to great effect against the slower Trelvenese troops. Dashing to and fro, the cavalry fired volley after volley of arrows towards the enemy, watching in glee as the green-eyed enemy Forester soldiers fell to the ground. However strong that magical race might be, the Trelvenese were simply too stupid to employ their mercenaries to their full potential.
With the Rhinish using their own Foresters against the Trelvenese Foresters, the chances of incurring Rhinish casualties were greatly reduced. Though not to the near-wasteful insanity of the Trelvenese, it was always quite amusing to see the Foresters fighting against their own, separated only by the banner which they followed.
Leading every single cavalry charge was Varaphan, the young commander of Rhinn’s entire cavalry. Nearly every arrow he fired would accurately strike its target’s weak point, immediately claiming another life. When clashing briefly in close quarters, he’d switch to his light, flexible lance, dancing among the blades as if he was in a field of grass. As if flaunting his invincibility, the only armour he wore were shoulder plates, forearm guards and a lamellar skirt. His beautiful amber hair, tied into a ponytail and untainted even in the midst of battle, stood out like a banner amongst the sea of helmeted soldiers, rallying the other Rhinish troops with his presence alone.
The pride and joy of the Rhinish military, his ferocity in battle was matched by none.
Still, he could not break the deadlock in the wastelands, the troops at his immediate disposal far too few to offer a strong counterattack against the relentless Trelvenese and their near-suicidal Forester troops. Despite his pleas for reinforcements, knowing that Rhinn could easily amass an army multiple times that of Trelven, those that were allowed to come to his aid were always not enough to deliver victory. Much of the Rhinish military might was spent quelling domestic unrest and keeping its vassal states under control.
If those idiots in the capital gave me complete control of the entire army for one month, Trellien would’ve already been on its knees and begging for mercy.
He struck down another enemy Forester. Now was not the time to sulk and complain. He could always appeal to Queen Rhulinn, eight years his junior, when he returned to the capital at Narras. Despite not holding actual power yet due to her age, she would at least listen to him.
‘Return!’ he shouted. It was time for the current wave of cavalry to temporarily regroup and allow the next wave to harass enemy lines. His steed, being from a particularly premium breed, could carry on the intensity for at least half a day, but the same couldn’t be said of the more common breeds that his troops had as their mounts. The cycling would ensure that every charge would be a fresh, powerful blow against the enemy, not allowing them even a moment’s rest and gradually shaving their numbers down until the day had fully passed.
At least he had complete command over the usage of Rhinn’s prized cavalry corps.
The clouds of dust kicked up during the engagement was heavily cloaking visibility, but the bright yellow plumes on the Rhinish helmets still allowed Varaphan to accurately gauge the positions of his troops, and for them to maintain coordination in the chaotic battle. Their Foresters, being naturally quite poorly equipped and lower in numbers, were beginning to show signs of fatigue and break against their numerically superior counterparts. Either the cavalry would deal enough damage for the enemy to retreat first, or they’d have to fall back further to rest and regroup.
It wasn’t that big of a deal if they conceded a bit of land, but it would deal a blow to Varaphan’s reputation if news travelled back to the capital. His reputation was precarious enough among the royal court already. He had no wish to endanger himself further.
‘Again! Again!’ Once the previous wave had retreated halfway, Varaphan put away his bow and waved his lance, the bright yellow piece of cloth strapped to the pole signalling for the next wave to charge. There would be no breaks for the enemy.
Still, the tenacity of the Trelvenese Foresters was something to behold. No matter how many times he faced them, Varaphan still admired their courage and refusal to retreat until the Trelvenese rear guard began to fall back. Instead of being mercenaries, those Foresters were proper mindless slaves, fighting only because that was the extent of their comprehension, their courage being forced out as a tool for survival rather than from patriotism.
He pitied them sometimes. But not enough to stop his own attacks against them.
‘Hit the wings and puncture the rear!’ he commanded. The numbers seemed low enough now. A direct cavalry charge to the wings would likely break the enemy. Despite the relatively weak puncturing force of the Rhinish cavalry, they could still deal massive damage to an army primarily composed of infantry. Exactly the type of army they were facing at this moment.
Leading the charge himself, he drove into the thick of battle like the paintings of heroes of old he would see in the royal palace. Enemies fell before him, their bodies trampled like clay. Besides the natural adrenaline that filled his body, there was little room for emotions to occupy his thoughts. No guilt, no pity, no anger, no excitement. Nothing but the pure, focused sight of the battle before him. This was Varaphan at his strongest: undistracted, fighting with a calm fury that none could quell. All for the sake of victory.
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But no matter how many enemies he slew, there was no breaking of the wings to allow the Rhinish to hit the Trelvenese rear guard.
The momentum of the charge stalled, and in the face of Trelvenese Forester tenacity, the Rhinish cavalry could not find a breakthrough. Many had already fallen to the destructive energy blasts, the magic ripping through flesh like melting butter.
Cavalry troops were expensive. Even the weakest Rhinish cavalry unit required exorbitant amounts of resources to maintain. If they lost too many units, Varaphan would once again be blamed.
His focus was breaking. The Trelvenese Foresters refused to budge. Their own Foresters were faltering. The attack was futile.
‘Retreat!’ he shouted. They needed to regroup. They had dealt immense amounts of damage to the enemy, far more than what they suffered in return, but even still, they had to retreat. The winds of war simply weren’t in Varaphan’s favour at the moment.
As they gradually fell back, Varaphan noticed another cloud of dust arriving in the distance. Judging from the size of the cloud and the speed it was approaching them, it was most likely an army of infantry. It wouldn’t be long before that army entered battle.
And judging from the trajectory… it was heading for the Trelvenese rear guard.
‘Commander, are they reinforcements?’ one of his generals asked.
‘No… they shouldn’t be.’ The court never notified him of any new reinforcements arriving soon. The most logical conclusion would instead be they were Trelvenese reinforcements, serving only to make the Rhinish situation more dire. But…
‘Their speed doesn’t seem to be reinforcing the enemy either.’ That army was moving far too fast to simply be integrating with the Trelvenese. He now could vaguely see numerous green flags and banners flying in the dust, a colour neither army used to identify themselves, nor was it a colour that featured in either of the kingdoms’ flags.
In other words, a third party.
But who?
Before Varaphan could think of an answer, the mysterious army collided with the Trelvenese.
Chaos. The green flags mixed with the Trelvenese blue, the enemy rear guard completely exposed and unprepared for such an attack. The organisation of the Trelvenese army shattered, the troops scampering to face the new threat only to be met with the unstoppable momentum of the green army. In fact, the new army was tearing through the Trelvenese far faster than Varaphan could anticipate, the deafening roars of those soldiers echoing across the fields. Despite that army numbering several thousand at best, they fought like a veteran army of ten thousand, ripping apart the Trelvenese formations in a charge of destruction.
And at the very front of that charge, Varaphan saw three massive white wings sweeping away Trelvenese soldiers like insects, while four large flying blades swept through the ranks like cutting weeds from a field. Magic. It was unmistakable. But it was magic on a scale hitherto unseen, defying every experience he had with its sheer display of power. There was no stopping that juggernaut, especially with the Trelvenese in such disarray.
For a split second, he shuddered in fear.
And yet strangely, the green army struck only the Trelvenese rear guard, completely ignoring the Forester-dominant vanguard that had their hands still full with the resistance of the Rhinish Foresters. They attacked only to kill the Trelvenese, not the Forester slaves that fought at the very front.
Well, he couldn’t pass up this opportunity.
‘Cavalry, turn back to attack!’ he ordered. It would cause too much disorganisation if he ordered his infantry to turn as well, but this was already more than enough.
Under the double pressure of the Rhinish and the mysterious army, the Trelvenese crumbled like sticks in a fire, the commanders already fleeing the scene with their personal guard. A battle that could’ve ended in a minor Rhinish defeat became a major victory, chasing the enemy in a rout. And as Varaphan looked to analyse the carnage, he saw the winged figure cut down the commander of the Trelvenese army, the motion fluid yet bearing an explosion of rage which violently bore deep into the unfortunate victim.
In only a few moments, victory had been handed to the Rhinish. This was only one of the Trelvenese armies that attacked them beginning in the summer, but with winter rapidly approaching, there was a low likelihood the other armies would repeat the same offensive in the near future.
As the Trelvenese fled deeper into their own territory, they abandoned their frontier camp, leaving many supplies for the Rhinish and the green army to loot. As Varaphan examined the scene, he noticed that the army was made up entirely of Foresters, a people that should’ve either been serving for the Trelvenese or them.
What was the reason for their aid in the battle? Were they part of a hitherto uncontacted tribe or clan of Foresters? Questions flowed in his mind, but for now, he resolved to put them to the side as he saw a white-haired Forester approach him, closely guarded by three wings that protruded from her body.
She was the second white-haired individual he had seen, and likely the only second individual in the world to possess such hair, the other being the Crown Prince of Trelven. A half-Forester.
‘Are you the commander of this army?’ she questioned.
‘I am Varaphan, commander of the Rhinish forces here,’ he answered. ‘And you are?’
‘Elethien, Queen of the Kingdom of Foresters.’
He had never heard of such a kingdom.
‘Well, Elethien, I thank you for your assistance in our victory against the enemy. How may we repay this favour?’
She looked at the captured Foresters rounded up in a corner of the camp. ‘Let my people go.’
For a moment, Varaphan was taken aback at such a demand. He had no idea who she was and where her army came from. Yet she demanded the release of the prisoners as her so-called ‘people’ as if she was in an equal position to negotiate with him. If anything, the Rhinish had the right to turn on their spontaneous allies out of mere suspicion of ulterior motives. For an army purely composed of Foresters whose leader demanded the release of Foresters, who was to say that they’d eventually attack the Rhinish to ‘release’ their Foresters as well?
‘And if I refuse?’ he finally responded.
She pointed her sword at him, her wings on guard and her four black blades manifesting out of thin air to point at his neck. ‘I will release my people myself.’
The hostility was clear. This so-called ‘kingdom’ only had the interests of Foresters at heart. Their motivation to only attack the Trelvenese rear guard was to recruit more Foresters into their ranks, posing as liberators.
Varaphan knew of the Foresters’ use as a balancing tool in the struggle of dominance between Trelven and Rhinn. It was dangerous to even have such a group who fought for and only for Foresters. It benefitted neither kingdom, whose casualties and costs in the war were greatly reduced only due to employing the use of the Forester warriors more than their own larger population.
But…
If he could appeal to their motives and draw them to the Rhinish cause, the scales would be tipped. And once these Foresters were on his side, there was nothing the pompous officials in the royal court could do to stop his progress. Finally, Rhinn could have its long-deserved victory in the war, and the kingdom could begin an era of peace under the rulership of Rhulinn.
This was Varaphan’s goal.
He dismounted from his horse and approached the Forester. ‘Let’s discuss this over a meal later, shall we?’