This is a chapter in the book that takes place about 5 years earlier then the main storyline.
Chapter Seven .
Sub commander Harpsarro stood at the center of a burned out village, whose name he could not recall. The other three sub commanders were still riding into the village from their surrounding positions while Commander Vismon stood silently nearby.
Once the four sub commanders were gathered together, Commander Antineous Vismon addressed them with an air of desperation in his voice. “This is the seventh village that’s been destroyed this season, the fourth in our sector alone. They’re like damn thieves in the night. We have every impresser we can spare patrolling the villages for people trying to abandon the border region. Even with all the public stakings, we still have people sneaking out of the area and before long there won’t be enough people to work the farms. Already the harvests are going to be lean and winter is going to be long and hungry for a lot of people.”
He then turned away from the sub commanders and scanned the burned remnants of the small farmer’s dwellings while he asked a rhetorical question. “How in the abyss are we to find these cowardly demons?”
Despite the nature of the question, Harpsarro answered Vismon’s question. “Sir they’re not demons, they’re just faster then us.”
Vismon turned and looked at Harpsarro as if expecting more than that simple declaration.
Harpsarro paused awkwardly as all eyes were on him. He quickly recovered and plowed ahead. “Sir these attacks by the Sevesal soldiers are never followed up with more attacks for at least a week or two. We search the area and come up dry. There’s only one way they can do this, they have to be crossing the river between attacks.”
Vismon showed exasperation at the last comment by Harpsarro as he responded. “Sub commander you know as well as the rest of the men that all the crossing points capable of supporting a troop of soldiers are being guarded night and day. There’s simply no way they could be crossing back and forth without using one of the crossing points.”
Harpsarro spoke up once again despite Vismon’s dismissing statement. “Sir, they cold swim it.” As soon as he made the statement he wished he could have pulled it back out of mid air.
The other sub commanders standing beside Harpsarro chuckled loudly and Vismon rolled his eyes at the preposterous statement. “Come now sub commander, what in the name of our true God are you talking about.”
Harpsarro looked hard at his fellow sub commanders before continuing. “It’s possible to swim a man and his horse across the River of Separation this time of year. The current’s not as strong as it is in the spring and if you leave your armor and only take swords I believe you cold make it. This would explain the tracks we’ve found; they’re not as deep or as wide as a traditional warhorse’s.”
Vismon opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it and placed a hand on his chin. After several seconds of thought, Vismon nodded while he answered. “I’ll agree, what you say is possible, but I think it highly unlikely. I can’t see a commander leading soldiers across enemy territory with nothing more then a light horse and a robe for protection. I’m certainly not going to bring this up with the deca commander.” Vismon looked up and exhaled loudly before saying. “No we can’t start following wild hunches. We’ll continue to patrol the area and trust that Venere will guide us to victory.”
Vismon turned to mount his horse, the discussion over. The other three sub commanders followed suit, leaving only Harpsarro still standing on the ground facing commander Vismon.
“Sir, allow me to take second troop to the river and at least rule out the possibility.”
Vismon looked down from atop his mount into Harpsarro’s eyes. “Sub commander get back to your men and follow my instructions and do not mention this nonsense again.” Vismon eased his tone slightly and spoke soft enough that only Harpsarro could hear. “You’re a fine soldier and a good leader. That’s why I approved your promotion to sub commander. Now don’t make me regret that decision.”
Harpsarro, slightly dejected, nodded silently before mounting his horse and followed the rest of the full troop on their patrol duties.
The next morning Second Troop’s lead element raced back to Harpsarro and reported rising smoke ahead. Harpsarro instantly responded with dread in his voice, “Breanvil.”
Breanvil was three times as large as any village that had been attacked thus far. It boasted a small constabulary capable of defending itself and even had walls and an iron gate. In theory, the town should be immune from the small destructive raids being carried out in the area. However, the large billowing pillars of smoke emanating from the town center ahead of Harpsarro showed this theory wrong.
“Form line formation!” yelled Harpsarro at the top of his lungs.
As Second Troop responded and raced to form the proper formation, Harpsarro gave instruction to obto Tilly. “Report to Commander Vismon that Breanvil is burning and we are forming line formation and are prepared to be base troop for assault.”
Tilly sketched a salute as he kicked spurs into the side of his mount, forcing it to bolt into a gallop. Within minutes he returned telling Harpsarro that Commander Vismon ordered Second Troop to attack as soon as First and Third are on line. In the minute or two that it took the other troops to race forward on line with Harpsarro’s troop, Tilly explained that Vismon planned to led Fourth Troop into Breanvil’s main gate and hopefully trap the enemy within the walls.
Minute’s later Breanvil’s walls came into sight and it became clear that the attack would be useless. Instead of a town being put to the flame and under attack, they found it already burned and only the dieing embers still smoking. However, unlike earlier attacked towns, this one boasted several survivors.
Vismon, Harpsarro and the other sub commanders listened intently to the story being told by a Breanvil constable. “It was just after dark when some men from inside the city attacked the gatemen. There are only four men guarding the gate from the inside, so I don’t suppose it took many of them to overpower the crew. Before we knew it, the gate was up and a couple hundred men rode in like demons escaping the abyss. We didn’t have a chance, they killed everything, and I mean everything. Men, women, children, anything that moved; it didn’t matter to them. They didn’t leave until everything breathing was dead and everything made of wood was on fire. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Harpsarro asked. “What do you mean you’ve never seen anything like it? Were they Sevesal cavalry or not?”
The Constable looked up with a dazed look before answering. “I’m not sure, I guess they were. They had horseman spears like you all carry. I can’t be fore sure, they didn’t have uniforms or armor, just the spears and sword and of course those damn torches.”
Vismon immediately looked at Harpsarro with a stunned expression before turning back to the constable. “Did you see which way they went?”
“That way,” he said pointing toward the east.
Vismon stood and looked east for several seconds contemplating the situation. Harpsarro looked toward the west and the great River of Separation less then a day’s ride away. Both men contemplating the same mystery, why would the Sevesal soldiers ride the opposite way of the river? Vismon turned back to the sub commanders and contritely said. “Harpsarro it appears I might owe you an apology. I can’t think of any other reason the soldiers would abandon their armor and gear unless they were swimming the entire troop across the river.”
“Yes sir, but I don’t understand why they’re heading in the opposite direction,” Harpsarro said.
Vismon looked back to the east before responding. “I think they’re going to try and push their luck and attack farther in. We can’t let that happen, we got to get the troop moving right away.”
“Sir!” Harpsarro said stopping Vismon from walking away. “I don’t think that’s right.”
The sub commanders standing between both men stood dumbfounded at Harpsarro’s declaration. No one had openly defied Commander Vismon in the last four years of command and now the junior sub commander in his trop had just openly disagreed with him in front of witnesses.
Vismon turned around with fire in his eyes, but his voice showed no inflection as he said unnaturally calm. “Harpsarro I just agreed with you, do you think this is the time to defy me?”
“No sir,” Harpsarro said trying to quickly make his point. “I just don’t understand why a couple hundred soldiers without supplies or gear to sustain them would move further into enemy territory. They’ve attacked two towns over a two or three day period and must have wounded and dead riding with them because we haven’t seen either one. So they must be collecting them after each battle. They must be pretty done in by now. I can’t understand why they would head east, unless—.”
“Unless what,” Vismon said impatiently.
“Unless they’re doing it to get us moving in the wrong direction. Head east, then loop around through the forest to the north. Trying to track them through that area would take us forever and leave them plenty of time to cross the river back to their side,” Harpsarro said seeming to work out the theory as he spoke.
Vismon paused before he spoke and then took on a consolatory tone. “You may be right, but the fact remains that we can not abandon a clear trail and leave further farms and villages open to attack on your hunch. We must follow the trail and trust that Venere will lead us to our enemy and victory.”
Harpsarro swallowed hard before he spoke again knowing that if he were wrong, he’d be lucky if all he lost was his rank. “Sir, then let me take my troop to the point were the river and the forest meet. If I’m right, I might be able to slow them down until you can catch up with them.” Vismon looked dubious but considered it for a second. Harpsarro seeing one last nudge might send the commander to his side. “And besides sir, you’ll still have almost two hundred fully armed soldiers and that’ll be more then enough to handle a mob of unarmored Sevesal soldiers.”
Vismon nodded as he said. “Ok sub commander, I’ll let you go off on your hunch for two days. If you don’t find them in two days, you back track to us and we discuss your future service as a sub commander, or should I say lack of future service.”
Well there it was. Failure meant his rank and most likely all the way back to trooper unless I miss his guess. Well no sense fretting now, I already stuck my foot in it.
“Yes sir, two days,” Harpsarro said and then turned to his obto standing close by. “Tilly get the troop in column and follow me!” Moments later Second Troop was riding hard northwest while Vismon mounted and ordered the remaining troops to head in the opposite direction.
Dusk was giving way to full darkness as Harpsarro squatted by the riverbank with Tilly and four exhausted squad leaders. Harpsarro pushed the 60-man troop hard throughout the day, his overriding concern, how fast he could move without destroying the horses. The fact the men had been up for almost two days without a moments rest concerned him, but he wouldn’t let a few lost hours of sleep keep them from cutting off the enemy’s retreat. Nearby the grumbling men could be heard cutting into the smaller trees near where the forest gave way to open grassland.
“This has got to be the place they’ve been crossing. Look at these hoof prints, shallow like the ones from the attacks,” Harpsarro said reenergized by the thought of his prey finally within his grasp. “The last set of tracks all head away from the river, so they haven’t crossed back yet.”
Tilly spoke up sure that the four squad leaders felt the same. “Sir we’ve got to get the men some rest, if we don’t they won’t be fit to fight an impresser little less a real soldier.”
Harpsarro looked over the other men before he placed a hand on Tilly’s shoulder and said quietly. “I know the men are walking dead right now, but if we rest them before we plant those stakes all this will be for nothing. We’ve arrived before them but even with a detour through the woods they won’t take long to get back here.”
“But what if Commander Vismon was right and they are heading in the other direction,” Tilly said.
Harpsarro smiled and shrugged his shoulders before speaking. “Then you will get plenty of rest and you’ll have a new sub commander shortly.”
One of the squad leaders spoke up and said with an air of mock seriousness. “Then you best not be wrong sir, because we just got you broke in right. I’d hate to have to break a brand new one in all over again.”
A small tired laugh rolled through the small group of leaders. Harpsarro waited for in to stop before saying. “Well since you seem to have recovered your sense of humor I think it’s time for us to get back to the soldiers.”
With exhausted bodies, the troop took most of the night to cut and emplace the sharpened stakes. Harpsarro and Tilly worked in pairs, insuring the stakes were just below the water surface and couldn’t be seen from the shore. Harpsarro personally emplaced the pickets ensuring they couldn’t be seen from the forest while they would egress to the main body of soldiers a short distance away. Because Harpsarro didn’t know exactly were the enemy would exit the forest from, he was forced to position the troop farther from the bank then he liked.
Harpsarro ran the numbers through his head again. The constable said a couple hundred men attacked Breanvil. Accounting for the size of a normal Sevesal cavalry unit of about two hundred twenty men, wounded and dead from two attacks and the burden of traveling through enemy territory without aid of food and equipment. It still added up to an abyss full of soldiers against his exhausted troop of only sixty men. He only had to hold them long enough for Vismon and the rest of the troop to catch up.
Venere why don’t you answer our prayers? My men and I fight, bleed and die in your service, that’s got to count for something. Please don’t let our dirty blood keep you from helping my men today. I willingly give you my life and soul if you could give protection to them today.
Harpsarro waited a few seconds, but nothing came. He didn’t expect any, but he tried all the same. He knew from his earliest days as a child that the brother Gods talked only to their offspring, the Dukatus, the clean bloods.
Since Harpsarro grew up in a village too small to have a fulltime Revered One preside at the temple, his mother told him the stories of the Gods. How Sevesal and Venere came to Outeer and purged the land of Dragons. How they sealed the end of the world with Red Gates that kept out the evils of the abyss. She would talk about how her soul would be cared for in the next life by Venere if she served him faithfully in this world. Every fall for as long as he could remember, his mother would tell him the story of the chosen. She loved the Ceremony of the Chosen, when a Revered One with his impressers came into the village and sought-after the most beautiful women to present to Lord Venere. They also collected the offering, consisting of as much as they could collect without the farmers starving until the next harvest.
During the Ceremony of the Chosen, the most attractive maidens each year were brought to the base of Mount Venere where seven of them were chosen by the God himself to be his wives for the year. Each would live in His palace and not leave until the day before the next year’s ceremony. Each woman would give birth to one male child and that child would some day serve as a Revered One, Military Officer, a mayor or maybe even a governor of a province. The mother and child lived together in the abbey of Venere until the children reached their seventh birthday. At which time the mother returned to her previous family and the child was given over to the service to the Revered Ones.
After hundreds of years of this practice, the members of the Dukatus class were growing quite large. Since they were not allowed to be member of the Army except for full troop commander and above, their combat fatalities were very low. The standing orders in both armies of Venere and Sevesal were that those with clean blood, or blessed blood in the case of Sevesal, were not to be killed. Those officer, Revered Ones, impressers and alike were to be captured and later traded for like prisoners.
All in all, Harpsarro grew to think that dirty bloods weren’t that well off in Lord Venere’s service. When he brought this subject up to his mother once, she wouldn’t hear him through and forbade him from ever questioning the wisdom of their God again. It wasn’t until the impressers came through their village and decided that Harpsarro was old enough at the age of fourteen to serve in the mighty Army of Venere that he heard his mother question a representative of Venere. She pleaded with them to let her only son stay a little longer. She said she couldn’t possible run the small farm by herself. She got on her knees and pleaded with them to allow her son one more season at home. All to know avail.
Off to his left, Harpsarro caught sight of movement. One of the pickets was bent double running as fast as he could while trying to present the lowest profile possible. It was neither fast nor stealthy, but Harpsarro didn’t expect much more from him. The man, like the others waiting close by, had been up for two days straight and physically exhausted from two days of long ridding and a night chopping and sharpening stakes with nothing more then knifes and swords.
Trooper Semans was a veteran and had served in the troop for better then three years. If he left his picket position and was now running full tilt back to him, Harpsarro knew it must be something serious. So even before he made it all the way back to the troop’s position, Harpsarro called the soldiers to the ready. By the time Semans made it to Harpsarro and saluted most of the men were up and mounting their horses.
“Sir, it must be them all right. They’re all dressed in grey tunics and riding little scrawny horses, just like you said to be on the look out for,” Semans reported.
Harpsarro returned his salute and noted a look of apprehension in Semans face. “What is it trooper, you look like you’ve eaten a sour Pia roll.”
Semans looked up at Harpsarro and hesitated a moment before he continuing to report. “Sir, I stayed as long as I could and counted as many as I could see, just like you said. And well—I counted more then a hundred and I didn’t see any end in sight. Could be more then a hundred fifty or maybe even two hundred sir.”
Harpsarro looked down at Semans with a broad smile and clapped both hand together and rubbed them with glee. “Ah good, I was afraid there might not be enough to make it a good fight. Let’s just hope Commander Vismon let’s us slice a few up before he rides in and spoils all our fun.”
Tense laughter sounded from a couple of soldiers near enough to hear the exchange. In reality, Harpsarro’s heart sank at the numbers of Sevesal soldiers reported by Semans. But he’d been in the army long enough to know that if the troop’s commander didn’t sound absolutely confident; the battle was lost before the first meeting of swords. He threw the part in about Vismon riding in to spoil their fun, to give his troops hope of quick reinforcements if things turned to bad. Harpsarro didn’t believe for a moment the Vismon could have caught up with this group by now, but it only mattered that his men believe it.
Harpsarro didn’t want to risk a rousing speech giving their position away. So instead he took the few minutes before the upcoming battle to ride through the squad ranks patting men on the shoulders and looking his men in the eye one on one. Without exception, each man would meet Harpsarro’s hard stare of absolute confidence and stiffen in the saddle. They’re shoulders back, shields and horseman’s spears held a little tighter and most importantly confidence almost radiated from them. Satisfied that he couldn’t do anything more for his men, Harpsarro returned to the front, next to his lead squad leaders.
“We wait until the led elements are hung up on the stakes and we have as many as they can fit in the water before we attack. I don’t want them turning around to meet us in mass before they are hung up in the water,” Harpsarro said to the front ranks of soldiers. He had already briefed the troops on the plan while they were emplacing the stakes last night. However, with the level of exhaustion running through the men, he was sure a few of them couldn’t even remember their names, little lone his battle plan.
“Oh by the abyss,” Harpsarro moaned. To his front he could see the first of the soldiers already in the water pausing and pointing to something in front of them. Harpsarro looked in front of the soldier, where the stakes should have been hidden under the water. There stood one lone stake slightly above the water, the wake created by the running river serving as a beacon to the danger.
Harpsarro looked at the rest of the soldier riding behind. They looked as dead tired as his own men. Most of them rode with heads hung low, some even swayed like they were asleep atop their mounts. The only good thing he could see was most of the enemy soldiers no longer carried horseman’s spears. Harpsarro was happy to have any advantage in the upcoming fight. Even if the lack of spears meant that most of the enemy had broken them while slaughtering the town’s people of Breanvil.
“Sir should we call off the attack? It looks like they’re on to us,” Squad Leader Lial said.
Harpsarro didn’t answer. Instead, he looked through the men to his front for a heart beat before a smile crept across his face.
“Oh crap,” Lial said knowing exactly what that look on his sub commander’s face meant.
“Four ranks, medium spread and I want them to hear you in the abyss when we move out,” Harpsarro shouted. That formation meant that the front squad spread wide enough between each man that the squad behind them could drop their Spears between them; a front like a wave with thirty long spears bringing death to anyone in front of it. The compact formation was strong with third and fourth squads behind it, but those ranks would not be able to bring their weapons to bear.
“Sir, shouldn’t we spread the troop out and take on as many as we can? When we stop to fight ‘em there just going to surround us with such a short front,” Lial said.
“Who said we were going to stop and fight? We’re going to go right through men!” Harpsarro said loud enough for those around him to hear. “Don’t stop for anything. Just ride right through until I tell you to stop.”
“Yes sir,” Lial said with a dubious look on his face.
Moments latter Harpsarro dropped his horseman’s spear level with the ground and charged forward, a blood curtailing scream emanating from his throat. The sudden movement and loud scream caught his own men by surprise, resulting in their slow start in following their commander’s lead.
Ahead of Harpsarro’s troop, several soldiers waited in line to cross the river that meant safety, a long rest and the first real meal they would have had in more then three days. The led element had stopped and was trying to wave the men back from the river, but being this close to their objective the men behind them refused to be held back. As a result the rear element kept pushing forward bunching the column up tighter and tighter, ahead someone began to shout and point franticly at something.
Finally the bunched column saw the deadly assault too late to react. The men that should have been protecting their flank had pulled back into the main body for the river crossing, not wanting to have to wait until the end of the long column to cross. So the only escape for the men in the rear was to try and force those in front of them to cross the river quicker. As they pushed frantically the front refused to budge, horses bucked and men without armor and shields had no chose, but to try and flee.
Again the disorganized mob packed by the riverbank worked against those trying to move from the on coming assault. A few tried the only thing left open to them and dived off their mounts trying to find a reprieve by lying flat on the ground. Most just screamed as the spears cut a swath threw their disheveled ranks.
Harpsarro had the good sense to slow his charge just enough to allow the rest of the formation to catch up with him before they impacted the enemy. Thirty long spears punctured the unarmored bodies in front of them with remarkable ease. The sharp points not meeting iron and layered leather slide threw the first row of men and many continued until they were buried deep into a second soldier or his horse. The densely packed enemy ensured that every leveled spear killed of wounded at least one man.
Harpsarro’s joy at having his hastily devised plan work perfectly turned to frustration as he realized that it had worked to well. By attacking so viciously and at just the right moment he forced the enemy into a densely packed ball unable to maneuver away from their attack. The downside became abundantly clear when instead of slicing through the formation; they became stopped by the wall of flesh. The men in the first two ranks, unable to free their spears were attempting to draw swords and finding it difficult in the tight quarters.
Harpsarro watched as the enemy slowly recovered from the terror they had just witnessed and began to respond. Those just outside of the assault area were trying to pull his men from their horses or stabbing at them with swords. He knew he didn’t have a second to waste. Harpsarro yelled for third and fourth squads to push forward adding weight to the men in the front. Through personal example Harpsarro showed those in the first ranks how to bash their way through the wall of men by thrusting their shields into the unarmored men in front of them.
Slowing the ball of men to their front gave way to the mass punching its way through. Once clear of the enemy, Harpsarro led the men forward over a hundred horse strides before stopping and turning back toward the enemy once again. Immediately he yelled for third and forth troops to form ranks on him. Thus the rear of the formation suddenly became the front. Because they hadn’t been able to participate in the first attack, both squads were nearly at full strength and still carried their long spears.
To his front, Harpsarro saw the disarray his attack had caused. The Sevesal Troop was continuing to try and make their escape across the river, but the stakes implanted there were exacting a heavy from the front ranks. The horses in the front had become impaled on the sharpened poles and with the weight of the beasts behind them they would be unable to move. The soldiers just behind the front ranks were screaming for the men further behind them to move back, all to no avail.
The blood from the impaled horses were quickly turning the water closes to the bank as crimson as a Revered Ones robes. Harpsarro took just a moment to mourn the beasts and wish there had been another way to stop the crossing. The understandings for both armies’ cavalries were clear. They attacked each other, not their mounts. An untrained rabble of footmen might stoop to such a level, but a cavalryman never would. The decision to emplace those stakes weighed heavy on Harpsarro, but seeing several of his own men already injured or dead eased his mind.
One of the men within the ranks of the Sevesal soldiers was madly trying to organize a defense. He was swinging his sword wildly, using the flat side to strike men on their backs to emphasize his words. He broke free of the group and was calling for his men to form on him at the rear.
Harpsarro’s troop was still vastly out numbered and if their enemy was allowed to reorganize and be able to bring their full weight of numbers to bear against him they would be finished. He immediately gave the command to charge and angled his men to strike the farthest point to the rear. He no longer had his horseman’s spear, so he extended his sword and arm straight to his front. His aim was directed squarely at the man trying to form order from chaos.
At seeing another organized charge of shields and spears racing for them, the Sevesal troops broke into even more of a disorganized mob. Most hesitated to flee, rather it was from their training or their organizer, it didn’t mater. Their fate was sealed.
Harpsarro’s troop struck the rear most part of the column with such force that the enemies loosely packed formation disintegrated. The man trying to organize a defense saw Harpsarro coming straight for him and attempted to parry the sword armed at his chest. However, Harpsarro pulled his sword back and thrust his shield in front of the man sword strike at the last moment. The force of the shield caused the man’s sword arm to fly backward opening up us unarmored chest to a slicing blow from Harpsarro. A soldier wearing a chest plate normally would not feel this type of attack; however, his enemy’s decision to travel as light as possible cost Harpsarro’s target a vicious wound.
Harpsarro didn’t have time to look back and see the result of his latest attack, but the ease at which they passed through was a confirmation that all went well. He didn’t continue the formation straight ahead as before, but instead wheeled them around in a long looping right turn. He slowed the formation once they reached the point where they were once again facing the rear of the Sevesal’s soldiers. He slowed the troop down to a canter, allowing his men and horses to catch their breath while he surveyed the result of their attack.
“Abyss consume your black soul!” Harpsarro said bitterly. The man he had sliced open was still sitting atop his horse, one hand trying to stanch the blood pouring down his side, the other still waving a sword. After the attack Harpsarro’s men had just made, the enemy should have been scattered and disorganized. There was a large amount of confusion within the enemy ranks, but the visual symbol of one of their leaders facing their foe, wounded but defiantly was powerful. Soldiers that were desperately trying to cross the river seconds earlier were now beginning to turn and face Harpsarro’s troop.
“Troop! Two rank attack formation to the front,” Harpsarro called out with urgency. The third and four ranks were still in the front and remained in formation, but first and second squads moved their location from the rear to along side Harpsarro. The resulting formation had two ranks to Harpsarro’s right and two on his left. The maneuver should have been quicker then it was. Harpsarro realized they had only practice moving to this formation with first squad in the front. By attacking with third and fourth in the front on their second attack. He had put his troop in an organized formation that they had not rehearsed before.
The few extra seconds would cost them in blood, all because he didn’t think of this possibility. The soldiers in front of them were beginning to form a cohesive front. He had to decide, let them go or try and stop them. Shield up, sword forward and spurs dug into his horses flanks as Harpsarro charged at the sword waving man trying to stave off defeat.
This time the Sevesal soldiers had enough sense to meet the attack head on. By the time Harpsarro and the rest of the troop made contact, they were facing a rapidly reforming line. Harpsarro was forced to fight his way through the line in an attempt to get to the enemies wounded commander. The man to his front brought his sword down again and again onto Harpsarro’s shield in the vain attempt to prevent a counter attack.
Harpsarro held his shield slightly higher to expose a space underneath it. He then stabbed the point into his foes unprotected thigh. Harpsarro kicked his horse forward and finished the wounded man with a slash across his face. He didn’t stop to see the man slide from his horse. His only thought was to get to the enemy commander and stop the rally effort.
Just as Harpsarro reached his prey, another man attacked him from his sword side and forced him to defend against a blow meant to sever his head from his shoulders. In the attempt to parry the attack and return it, Harpsarro felt a searing pain in his calf. The enemy leader managed to lunge forward and stabbed Harpsarro. Worse still, the sword went through both sides and drew blood from the horse also. It was all that Harpsarro could do to control his mount and fight of the two men.
Finally the horse accepted his command to go forward once again and this brought him within breathing distance to the man that kept him from his real objective. The unarmored man without the use of a shield fell to Harpsarro second swing of his sword. Without hesitation he reined his horse left to engage the real objective. The enemy commander’s face was ashen white from loss of blood, his bloody tunic testament to the profuse amount of blood he had already lost. Harpsarro was close enough to see the agony in the man’s face every time he blocked an attack.
Harpsarro brought an overhead looping strike at the man’s face, changing the angle at the last moment to strike his thigh instead. The blood loss from Harpsarro’s earlier attack left the man without the strength and speed to prevent the blow from landing. One final thrust into his midsection and he slumped in the saddle, mortally wounded. Harpsarro pauses long enough to see the man slide from the saddle and land in the dirt, his eyes still wide in death.
Harpsarro quickly looked up to survey the rest of the battle. He was relieved to see his men hacking down the enemy in droves. His fully armored men where winning any battle that they were not outnumbered in; however, as he took notice of the edges, he saw the enemy flowing around his short battle line on both sides. The enemy’s inability to stop the forward advance of Harpsarro’s men was actually causing the envelopment. If Harpsarro didn’t stop his men’s advance, they would be surrounded and cut off.
Harpsarro shouted for retreat. He had to continue to shout over and over again to gain his troops attention. They were cutting their way through the middle and didn’t want to stop. Each individual battle won brought the entire element closer to defeat and eventual annihilation. Slowly his squad leaders gained control of their men’s blood lust and brought them reluctantly under control.
To prevent opening their backs to attack, Harpsarro called for an immediate attack of his own to the left and led the men into a slow curving maneuver that would eventually led back to the tree line. At first, the fresh troops that were trying to envelope the formation fought hard to prevent Harpsarro’s escape. The unarmored men again found that flesh and blood were no match for hardened iron. Shortly after Harpsarro turned the formation back to the wood line he was once again out of contact with the enemy.
He looked back to ensure they had successfully broken contact and an imminent attack wasn’t being assembled. He reigned in his horse and just gazed dumbfounded at the sight of the enemy’s remaining formation. The amount of blood and severed body parts strewn throughout the area of the pitch battle shocked him. Unable to take in the full scope of the slaughter while he was in the throws of individual combat, Harpsarro had been unable to fully grasp the level of disparity between his men and the enemy. Their need to travel light to make the long mounted swim across the river became a death sentence to scores of them.
When Harpsarro turned to ride back to his formation he could see the battle had not been fought without a heavy cost. A quick count revealed less then half of his original formation was still present. He saw only two of the four squad leaders still present and Obto Till’s left arm hung limply by his side, blood slowly running down his arm from under a bandage that one of the trooper was applying.
“That’s quit the nasty cut,” Harpsarro said to Tilly as he brought his mount along his Obto’s.
“I’ll live sir, but if you don’t re-dress that wound of yours I don’t think you will,” Tilly returned.
Harpsarro, so focused on the battle, had completely blocked out his own wound. Now with the stress of imminent death not distracting him, Harpsarro felt the throbbing dull ache return to his leg. The hastily applied dressing had become dislodged and blood oozed from the cut. When he reached down to secure the bandage he almost toppled from his horse faint from blood loss.
A trooper reached over to steady Harpsarro, and then redressed his commander’s wound.
“Thank you Trooper,” Harpsarro said. He immediately felt a pang of guilt at not knowing the soldier’s name. “What’s your name killer?”
“Jink sir,” he said with a look of disbelief on his face.
“First battle Jink,” Harpsarro said slapping the man’s shoulder hoping to get the young man’s attention off the bloody scene in front of him.
Jink hesitantly turned his face from the enemy to Harpsarro before saying in a soft tone. “I’ve only been here eight days sir.”
Harpsarro looked him in the eye and waited until the young man’s attention was completely on him before he said. “You’re doing fine son. Just keep your shield high and hack the abyss out of anything that comes close.”
With complete seriousness and eyes wide, Jink said. “Yes sir.”
“Looks like they haven’t had enough yet sir,” Tilly said.
Harpsarro looked back to the enemy’s location and despite the carnage around them; they were reforming their ranks and looks as if they were preparing to attack. Harpsarro took a rough count and guessed there were still well over a hundred mounted men in front of his shrunken formation. He leaned forward to look up and down his rank and assess him men. Too many of them were suffering from wounds; both minor and a few like Tilly serious enough to require immediate care to save a life or limb.
“Well sir, looks like they’re tired of getting a poke in the rear every time they try to cross the river. They’re going to try and chase us away so they can cross in peace unless I miss my guess,” Tilly said surveying the enemy’s ranks.
“We run and they get to cross. We let that happen, then thirty or thirty-five died for nothing,” Harpsarro returned.
Tilly pointed at a man riding up and down the enemy’s ranks trying to bolster the men’s courage and said. “Good. That fool gave me this pin prick when I wasn’t looking so I owe him face to face with me.”
Harpsarro, without any delusions of the outcome, called out to his soldiers. “Spread out single file and don’t let those whore’s around you. Keep ‘em to the front and they can’t bet us.”
Slowly at first, then like a slow tide, the men began to chant. “For the true god, for the true god, for the true god.” Then on the fourth call. “For the true god and Harpsarro!” The men raised their voices even louder as the new call took hold and was repeated.
Harpsarro was shaken by the unexpected call, never had he expected such an outpouring from men that he had just led in battle that cost the lives of more then half their numbers. His eyes watered and his vision blurred before he was finally able to blink them clear enough to see. The ranks of the enemy just sat upon their horses confused at they sight in front of them.
Harpsarro looked over at Tilly and said while pointing to the Sevesal soldiers. “I’ll see you in the abyss shortly my friend, but let’s make sure they make there first.” Tilly’s smile was all the answer Harpsarro needed before he shouted the charge.
As one, the twenty-seven men of Harpsarro’s remaining command kicked their mounts into a charge that closed the distance between the two armies at a remarkable rate. The Sevesal soldiers used the few seconds left before the two battle lines collided to tighten their formation. This reaction was normal for soldiers wanting to gather tighter for mutual aid and be able to better absorb the impact of the attack.
Harpsarro smiled knowing his enemy’s reaction was the best thing that could happen to him. The tighter formation of Sevesal soldiers made it more difficult to use their superior numbers to envelope Harpsarro’s short line. The compact formation would absorb the attack well, but this was only an advantage if Harpsarro had planned to punch a hole through the line. His intent was to hit the line and use his advantage of arms to break the will of his enemy and with luck he might force them to flee the crossing point. Even as this thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it as a desperate hope that had no real chance of success.
As fast as these thoughts crossed his mind was how fast they vanished as he thundered into the line of waiting men. Harpsarro sacrificed precision for brute force. His sword swung wildly in large arcing motions as he repeatedly made contact with any part of his enemy’s body that came within range. He used his shield as effectively as his sword to batter any soldiers trying to attack under his sword strikes.
He managed to look over his line during a brief respite and immediately new that only moments were left before the few remaining men were overwhelmed. His tired men were giving everything they had left, but the weight of their arms and armor was finally working to their disadvantage. Harpsarro’s own arm was numb from fatigue and at times he didn’t think he would be able to lift it for another strike.
Tilly finally fell to an attacker’s piercing strike while he was engaged with another opponent. The wound to his hip forced him from the saddle and he landed only feet from Harpsarro’s side. With renewed determination, not to allow the man to finish Tilly while he lay prone on the ground, Harpsarro surged forward in the attack. Harpsarro managed to bring his sword down across the man’s head when he leaned forward to attempt a killing Tilly.
Harpsarro watched the top of the man’s head slide off the remaining portion of his head and land with a small splash in a puddle at Tilly’s feet. The moment it took to land seemed to happen in slow motion and if it hadn’t been for the sword being thrown down at his horse’s feet, he wouldn’t have looked up when he did. Harpsarro saw the enemy giving up in droves. Weapons were tossed into the mud and their hand exposed in an expression of total capitulation.
The Sevesal soldiers had taken a heavy toll in wounded and killed at the hands of Harpsarro’s men once again, but Harpsarro’s defeat was clearly imminent. He looked at only a dozen of his men still on their mounts and at least sixty or even eighty of the enemy to his front.
He was still in shock when he heard the thunder of hooves growing louder behind him. As Harpsarro looked back and saw the remaining three troops of Antineous Vismon’s command riding hard directly for them he nearly collapsed in the saddle. Complete exhaustion washed over Harpsarro as he dropped his shield onto the ground and just managed to sheath his sword. For the first time in his adult life, he felt tears well up in his eyes and seconds later they flowed freely down his dirt caked face. He wiped them away with a gauntleted hand as the first of the newly arrived men rode by his position on their way to take hold of the now defeated enemy.
“Sub commander you did a fantastic job here today. These abyss spawned cowards won’t be bothering us anymore. With the men you killed and the prisoners we captured, I don’t think they’ll be trying anything like this again,” Commander Vismon said.
Harpsarro sat under a tree that was being used as a hasty treatment area for the remaining men of Second Troop. His back rested against the tree trunk as a soldier tied fresh cloth bands around his wounded leg. His eye lids drooped as sleep struggled to take hold. Only the fact that the wounded and dead were still being brought in kept him awake.
Harpsarro looked to the left, where Tilly was being bandaged by several soldiers and asked. “How does it look trooper?”
The one closest to him looked up and said. “Not good sir. He has a couple of wounds that aren’t bad, but the one in his side is pretty deep. I don’t think he’ll make it to the doctors back in camp sir.”
Tilly’s head turned to toward Harpsarro as he opened his head surprising those still working to stanch the flow of blood by his side. “Don’t believe this abyss dweller sir. I’ll be back in the saddle in a week,” Tilly said weakly.
Harpsarro felt the sides of his cheeks twitch into a slight smile for a second at Tilly’s bravado. He then looked up to where Vismon was still talking about the great victory and waited for him to pause so he could ask a question.
“How many sir?”
“How many what sub commander?” Vismon asked surprised by the question.
Harpsarro swallowed to clear his dry throat before asking softly. “How many of my men are dead sir?”
“Oh, at last count I think there where nineteen wounded,” Vismon said.
“And unwounded sir?”
“There wasn’t anybody unwounded sub commander,” Vismon said.
Harpsarro leaned his head back trying to do the simple math in his head. We started with sixty-two and there are nineteen wounded, forty-three. Forty-three dead and nineteen wounded. How many of them will even make it back to camp before the butchers start hacking away limbs. Venere please make peace with your brother.
“Don’t worry about anything sub commander. You just rest right here and when we get back to camp I’ll take care of everything,” Vismon said to Harpsarro with a pat on the shoulder. His jovial mood returned now that he was talking about something other then wounded or dead.
Harpsarro closed his eyes and for only the second time in his memory, he let the tears flow freely down his cheeks. Sleep came quickly after that and mercifully no one woke him for several hours.
