Part II
-Tyfon’s Trumpets-
28th Afternoon
(Present)
Sergeant Ido Zeide
2nd Regiment (west), 1st Division of the 3rd Foot
Battle of Crimson Forest plains road
(Khanate name, Havoc Unleashed)
Eighth hour
Lord Anker’s center
PAWOOO
URRUEE!
“Sour crab muffin! What in the all-hells was that?” A baffled Ido Zeide wondered and stepped out of formation, while the packed rows of spearmen still pressed forward. The regiment continued without the sergeant who faltered by their side. The otherworldly calls briefly interrupting the clanging of blades on shields, the thrusting Halberds smashing conned helms and the couple of thousands of soldiers' yells of encouragement, or frustration.
Thick dust in his eyes and more in his mouth, turned to bitter mud on his tongue.
“GET BACK IN LINE!” Captain Lucas Funke bellowed at Ido, who glanced at the officer’s face amused. The ground dancing under their feet, a repeated boom-boom-boom, as if a great boulder had detached from the sides of a cliff and was now rolling down.
A great many boulders that is, Ido thought, his ears ringing. He barely heard an arriving messenger’s words over the battle’s roar as that strange trumpeting followed by a dragged-out inhuman snorting-sound that returned yet again.
PAWOOO
URRUEE!
There! A bewildered Ido Zeide thought, the Captain giving him a shove to go after the 1st Division’s pushing forward lines. The Jang-Lu had started giving ground.
“Kroneberg is right behind us sir!” The soldier of Kroneberg’s 4th reported, after he paused in shock at the weird sounds, now heard more clearly. “Nanko Hospes’ 3rd has broken the Khan’s east flank! All lines advance!”
URRUEE!
PAWOOOO
URRUEE!
“Why then… Good gravy!” Captain Funke gasped at the increasingly louder trumpeting and with a grimace of bewilderment turned again to the freaked-out young Issir messenger. “Why is Kroneberg so slow? The boys are pushing Gika back here!” He barked to yank the messenger out of his fear-induced limpness.
“We spotted rangers at the edge of the woods sir!” The young messenger replied and Funke snapped a helmed head Ido’s way to regard the scowling sergeant.
Shite!
“Sergeant run back to Kroneberg and get that son of a bitch to more forward. Move the men faster damn it! Blast his ears out, if he so much as hesitates! The High Regent was clear!”
“Sir,” Ido protested, the sounds of the fight had slowly died away whilst the rumble of the distant landslide came closer.
PAWOOOO
URRUEE!
And so did the resonances of many bizarre trumpets.
Better to give it a bit of time and it’ll blow out.
“Right away,” Ido grunted and saluted sharply.
Cephas Mirpur
North edge of Maple Grove
Khanate army’s center
Cataphracts leaders’ mid-day meeting
“The horses got cold during the night, move them about,” Cephas told them, letting the sun touch his face and holding the silver mask in one hand and the spyglass in the other. Anebos, who had hunted near the cold Great Oak Forest west of Chariot’s Birth, agreed with a nod. Hurbasa, the other Cataphract leader in their small group, just shrugged his shoulders.
Cephas gave the spyglass to Anach, the slave riding on a young stallion and dragging Warlock -Cephas second warhorse- behind him. Cephas was atop Amir –another name for ruler- since he was the faster of the two.
The Issir Heavy Cavalry could be seen right in front of them and as close as three hundred meters away at places, with Muda-Zeket’s Jang-Lu and Baron Grote’s 3rd Foot fighting each other some distance away to their left (or east side of the woods). The battlefield's edges reached just under a kilometer from their positions during Taja’s morning advance. Then the Issir machines, which Cephas had spotted a similar distance behind the Heavy Cavalry, had opened fire uncontested. They had pummeled Taja for hours. No amount of rotation could combat this attrition and the Issir east flank didn’t even have to risk an attack. The two lines had remained within shouting distance from each other, whilst the center and west flanks were fighting, but Taja had received the vast majority of the casualties, but for some friendly fire that had landed amidst the Issir infantry.
It was a horrendous ordeal.
Muda-Zeket had pointed it out the likelihood of his Jang-Lu getting pounded during their evening council and so had Cephas. It fell on deaf ears. Everyone was worried about the church’s soldiers advancing through the Crimson Forest, even though Cephas had stalled them enough to give Ota-Kmet enough time to react.
Tika Phanti had paid the price with his life, but unfortunately all this time gained was lost, because Muvelo and Sepa had gotten stuck in the wilderness near the coast.
“Hurbasa, you’ll strike first against their knights’ east flank, force the Heavy Horse to hurry to their aid,” Cephas rounded up their plan, speaking fast but clearly, in order to be heard above the sounds of heavy fighting that came from the main road. “Anebos you’ll attack at the seams of the reinforcements they send and separate them from the rest. I’ll angle an attack against those left to guard their advancing infantry.”
“They’ll see us coming,” Hurbasa grunted. “Same as yesterday.”
“I know,” Cephas snapped. “But today we can’t afford to stay idle!”
“Go for the machines next?” Anebos asked in a calmer manner to break up their argument and then secured the mask on his helm.
“I’ll do that. Pray they miss my intentions in the haze,” Cephas replied and breathed out. “Concentrate on dealing with the Regent’s knights. Stay with them, whatever happens—”
PAWOOOO
URRUEE!
The splitting trumpet sound rang across the plains to their left and stopped Cephas from finishing his words. The Mirpur scion pushed on his stirrups to lift himself and turned to watch what was happening beyond the treeline. Anach who had the spyglass lowered it, his tanned face filled with wonder.
“Inordinate Lord Cephas. First of the Mirpur,” the slave informed him. “Master Tyfon, took the field.”
“Who gave the order?” a troubled Anebos grunted, but Cephas grabbed the spyglass from Anach’s hands and turned it north to watch the movements of the Issir Heavy Cavalry.
Everyone was watching the same thing. Tyfon’s armoured beasts lumbering advance towards the dissolving frontlines.
“Hurbasa, get back to your men immediately!” Cephas barked, securing the silver mask on his helmet with the clasps, after flinging the spyglass to Anach. “Everyone, charge at them now! Stick to the plan!” He urged Amir forward, clicking his tongue, but the noise was drowned out by the chaotic uproar Tyfon’s beasts had created. Frustrated, Cephas kicked his legs to spur his clad in heavy chainmail warhorse, earning an irritated neigh in return. Cephas then pivoted to the right, and signaled for his comrades to advance as well.
Hurbasa had already raced off to the east amidst the trees, but Anebos, who had known Cephas for nearly thirty years, lingered behind. Upon catching Cephas’s glance, he gave a slight nod, his helm glinting in the light.
Then, raising his voice above the chaos created by Tyfon’s charging beasts, he called out to his departing friend. “Ride well, spawn of Mirpur!” Anebos rasped, his words nearly drowned out by the tumult. “Ride for Ermin Suru and the spirits of yer illustrious ancestors who shall surely watch over us!”
-
Kaphiri Sepa rode straight for Sir Rupert Tellman’s Pastelor men-at-arms –the latter had just struck Sakir’s rotating in-and-out of the Maple Thickets Horse-Archers- and attempted to scatter them. Riding on dead horses the Horselords did a pretty good job all things considered, but ten minutes into their scrap Sir Joost and Leo Goetz’s Farvor Cavalry arrived to Sepa’s rear to help their neighboring northern Issir town.
-
Sir Rupert Tellman
War is an unfaithful whore, Rupert thought realizing he wouldn’t be able to turn Linus in time. The Horselord’s bleeding horse had leaped out of the way, landed and then immediately twirled around 180 degrees on its legs to change direction.
With a strange sense of humor.
Rupert pulled at the reins hard, the sun gleaming on plate and blade, dust clouds raising under horses hooves and dark earth mixed with pebbles raining on his helm. The knight sensed more than saw the Khanate rider leap over the saddle and reacted with a desperate swing of his longsword parallel to the ground, as he also turned with Linus. The heavy blade whooshed and then connected with a thud with the steppe horse’s neck, splitting the flesh afore it wedged on bone.
Or no humor at all, only ruthless measurements of one’s skill, against another’s luck.
The next moment Rupert flew backwards from the saddle himself and crashed on the disturbed ground with a pained grunt, a piece of broken spear lodged down the left side of his collar, between the sculpted helm and the edge of the plate cuirass. The steel spearhead’s wooden pole had broken a handbreadth from the socket –where it was inserted- and the Horselord had used it to vault over the stricken Rupert, then land three meters behind him amidst the chaos. Mounted Horse-Archers arriving constantly from the nearby woods, but nearby the injured Rupert thought he heard Issir voices and saw the banners of Farvor.
You could win whilst losing it all, or perish just as the battle turns in yer blasted favor.
With a grunt he rolled to the side and put an arm down in order to force himself upright, but got kicked savagely at the ribs, so this plan got spoiled fast. Rupert hit the ground again and in the attempt to breathe the injured knight sprayed blood out of his mouth and nostrils half-blinding himself.
“Eh, damnation,” Rupert thought and opened his clogged with gore visor to better see his hobbling about opponent. The Khanate officer –a fiercely purple sash around his waist- cursed and unsheathed a custom saber. He glanced left and then right at the Horse-Archers, Lancers and men-at-arms clashing, a look of disgust marring his scarred, helmet-less and tanned face. The sound of hooves and horses, men cursing and weapons clanging sharply, making ones ears ring, although Rupert was certain that in his case it was the blood-loss. “Hey,” he coughed at the troubled Horselord to get his attention away from a group of Pastelor men and Siske that were approaching amidst the chaos. “That was… a good trick what ye did.”
“Rim,” the Horselord told him in a gruff manner, before turning around as he’d sensed Siske gallop towards them. “Perished of fear for a legend’s panoply and not skill.”
With a furious scream Siske charged against the dismounted opponent without thought and he immediately leaped out of the lance’s way to strike at Banner –his sister’s horse- from the sides. The blade connected with the jerking away horse sort of, as the alert Siske had dropped her shield lower to cover the area and the sword clanged on it. The Khanate officer stumbled back as Banner instantly turned inwards and Siske’s lance caught the retreating Horselord with a savage lunge to his groin.
Yes, the tensely watching Rupert thought elated, despite his own injury.
There’s plenty of skill involved ye slant-eyed dog!
Siske turned her head to glance his way with worried eyes and the half-sprawled, bleeding-out on the rough ground Rupert used all the strength he’d left to bark a guttural warning.
“Forget about me… that’s Sepa!” Rupert had told his grimacing sister. “Finish him off!”
“A… fucking girl?” The stunned Sepa growled, faltering and holding on to his bleeding groin, desperately trying to stand upright on buckling legs.
“Griffin’s girl,” a flushed Siske hissed and snapped her heels to charge the snorting Banner forward. A fainting Rupert watched girl and horse with clouding eyes leap forward, the lance lowering at the perfect time, a proud bloody smile on his mouth.
28th afternoon
-
Sir Rupert Tellman, who had led Pastelor’s men himself after his father had perished in the woods -according to several sources, got seriously injured by Sepa’s lancers at this point (or Sepa himself) and Sakir’s men –the young leader had personally rushed to the scene to help out- appeared ready to win the bloody scrap. Then Sepa was killed himself by Siske –the feat is disputed by Khanate witnesses and some bigoted Issir historians- and his men after a desperate attempt to reach their fallen leader, lost their will to fight. The latter again not making much sense, with the worn-out lancers probably succumbing to fatigue, forced to fight up close against armoured opponents on shot horses, or no horses at all by this point.
Sir Joost AredRavn finally won a fight against Sepa killing most of his men, with some fighting to the bitter end on foot as their horses died from under them. Sakir, upon observing the battle turn for the worse, ordered a retreat and his fresher Horse-Archers broke off and scattered. They created three groups two hundred meters away, and Leo Goetz urged Sir Joost to finish them off, leaving the mauled men of Pastelor behind. The Issirs gave chase to the fleeing groups of Horselords, who headed for the inclines of the West Porch plateau.
A catastrophic lapse in judgment for the Issir officers born out of ignorance, or an irresponsible desire to avenge earlier defeats. The young Sakir, now forced to feed for himself without Muvelo’s oppressive aura over his shoulders, regrouped his men en route, issued a couple of simple orders everyone understood and then roped the pursuing Issirs of Sir Joost and led them around. It was a death ride. Up the inclines, increasing and decreasing the tempo, with small groups detaching to shoot arrow volleys at the men-at-arms, before breaking off again.
Pretty soon the Issirs found themselves trapped, circled by the faster moving Horse-Archers and attacked from all sides. Arrows peppered the men and horses, forcing injured men to slow down and eventually break off from the larger group. Those Issirs quickly got attacked and killed by small Horselord predatory parties following behind Sakir’s and Sir Joost’s larger groups.
‘Over a hundred of them Farvor boys went up the inclines after that cunning coyote’ Mathias Radler, a veteran sergeant-at-arms from Pastelor reported after the battle -himself injured twice in two days- recalling the deeds of the now famed but then thought ‘retreating’ Sakir ‘and none of them came down.’
Sir Joost AredRavn and Leo Goetz amongst those lost. Siske Tellman, who suffered the loss of her brother Sir Rupert during the night, right after she had lost her father, told Baron Dan ‘the Unscathed’ AredRavn and Egon ‘Grass’ her squire years later –quoting her late brother- and speaking of the same event that ‘one could win whilst losing it all, or perish just as the battle turns in his blasted favor.’
-
General Muvelo’s veterans in asymmetric warfare lieutenants, Bastet and Ru-Asper, had whittled down the Northmen inside the Maple Thickets when Sir Rupert, Sakir and Sir Joost clashed to the west of them. With Sakir’s Horse-Arches dropping their spears and rushing to their animals, Mayer’s men –Mayer and Gunnar were dead by now- rallied and counter-attacked stopping the rangers advance. Muvelo had already locked himself on the other edge of the copse against Kaasen –the Nords were a group of four, or five survivors at this point in time- and Joris Sloot’s much larger militia and this new development immobilized him completely. Despite that he had dispatched a couple of patrols in order to keep himself informed of what transpired in the plains.
Lord Grote’s 3rd Foot had taken advantage of Taja’s horrifically battered group -east flank- attempt to disengage and Captain Florian Clauberg’s 3rd Division overrun Muda-Zeket’s men at the center simply by marching where Taja’s men had been minutes earlier. The bombardment ceased, after friendly fire losses mounted, and both Lord Grote and Muda-Zeket made efforts to either take advantage of the situation, or prevent it from turning into a disaster.
Muda-Zeket ordered Taja to stop his retreat, regroup and hold position, moved men from the west flank to the center –facing east- to stop Clauberg’s advancing 3rd Division, but overwhelming pressure to both remaining fronts –with Kroneberg’s 4th Division arriving at the scene to reinforce the Issir west flank- made the hardened Jang-Lu to slowly start giving ground. Bit by bit the Khan’s center started crumbling, shoved backwards and with the east flank wide open several other officers watching the infantry general’s struggles decided to intervene.
It wasn’t Besa Nafi who gave the order –some insist he did-, neither Rumen-Kot, the engineer had tried to advance to help the retreating Taja, but got stripped from infantry support, as Hamadi’s Slaver Guards –they had escorted the machines up until then- got confusing, totally contradicting orders and was forced to abandon the engineer leader.
Kilometers to their rear, near Chinos River north banks camps, the slave crews that had followed Bedas Slavers to the Arid Plains during the night now returned without their slain guards. With the Khan’s Master of Slaves killed by Sir Rupert early that morning, the slaves had armed themselves and then rushed the undefended camp to free their compatriots. With overwhelming numbers they managed it as at least six hundred slaves were in that first group.
Soon though around three thousand slaves coalesced around Issir’s Eagle late Mayor Julian Sonnenfeld’s firstborn Paul. The rumored reluctant to take the mantle initially Paul was forced into the decision and another one thousand of the males present were armed raiding the camp’s stores. This unruly, but strong force (close to two thousand stayed together) marched out of the camp and headed straight for the Mid Bridge and the pontoon bridges the Khanate had built there to increase the flow of supplies and reinforcements without clogging the main stone and timber bridge.
The guards at the Mid Bridge informed Burzin’s entourage and the Khan rode near the bridges himself. He quickly ordered the guards contingent present there to crash the slaves revolt and sent a missive to Hamadi –at that time pressured by Besa Nafi to follow Rumen-Kot to the frontlines- to quickly ‘fix your mess slavemaster, or send me your head,’ which prompted Hamadi to move out of Pines Road camp and hurry towards the rear with an incensed Besa Nafi in tow. Slavers from the nearby (on the east side) main Khanate camp rushed to assist them, but the news spread inside the much larger camp of the armed uprising to the west, fueled by the ever approaching booms of Luikens’ convoy to their east and the six thousand slaves working it (four thousand males of fighting age at least) revolted as well.
While the Khanate’s rear was in disarray trying to stifle the revolt and the Horselord command struggled to cope with too-many emerging problems, in the field two men decided to take matters into their own hands. Master Ishino Tyfon ordered his men to lead the war elephants out of their exile and rush them to Muda-Zeket’s assistance. Tyfon probably had no real plan, other than to forcibly bulldoze his way through the Issir packed infantry lines and open a way for the Jang-Lu, or any unit to exploit.
The armoured, ungainly giant beasts trumpeted their arrival, raising such a ruckus that all fighting ceased gradually with men from both camps watching the beasts advance up the plains and the main road. With steel-blades reinforced thick tusks and a pelt of ring armour over a hard rubbery skin and several feet of lard, Tyfon’s war elephants spread shock and devastation in their path.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Cephas Mirpur’s Cataphracts the only unit taking advantage from the ever-increasing confusion that came before Tyfon’s loud horde of beasts reached the first soldiers and the real mayhem begun. Cephas charged out of the Grove just before that and drove straight for the bewildered Issir Heavy Cavalry that had blocked his path for a whole day.
-
Sebastian ‘Oaks’
Seb/Bastian
Brother Sebastos
Several hours earlier
The fenced yard of the mostly destroyed Rita’s Inn near the still standing stables
Sebastian saw Priest Brukel riding near them, half the priest’s robes blackened and tattered, the pelt of his horse smoking and got up to approach. He arrived after Vellers and Magister De Hove had already reached near the tired priest.
“What’s going on over there?” Vellers grunted and Brukel signed for him to halt his queries for a moment as he raised a flask to his bearded face. He glugged down from the flask, under the sound of heavy fighting and still the occasional explosion.
“Brother Brukel,” De Hove protested in his deep voice.
“Kmet survived the bombardment,” Brukel explained and eyed the watching, heavily bandaged Sebastian a little surprised, before continuing. “Came out of the smokes and hit the Deliverers head on.”
“Uher’s mercy!” Vellers cursed. “Are the Golden Spears overrun?”
“You can’t destroy iron machines,” Brukel replied with a grimace. “But you can damage them and he did. Two detonated and caused a bit of a chaos.”
“A bit? Rita’s Inn is burning!” Vellers growled irate. “My men got killed in there! I’ll kill that son of a bitch!”
“You can’t get them out of the road also, if their crews run away,” Brukel continued hoarsely. “So Kmet’s chariots found the road blocked and stopped. Sir Kosters charged at them from the sides, but it just added to the mess and Kmet’s men have a lot of crossbows and javelins on them devils. We took a lot of casualties and Rumu decided to attack us instead of guarding the inn I suppose,” the priest took a big breath and then let it out hoarsely. “Some engineers tried to turn the loaded machines against them. I guess they overshot the mercenaries, which was a sage thing for us there, but nailed the Inn in their stead, which wasn’t as good for you guys. Uher works in mysterious ways.”
Sande De Hove sucked at his teeth and then rubbed at his forehead with a gloved hand to alleviate a headache. “We only have what few men you see here,” he finally rustled.
Less than twenty Inquisitors had survived and half of them carried various injuries, as they guarded the fence against a potential Rumu attack.
“Best you keep them here, Kmet is going to lose,” Brukel replied. “He’s just being stubborn about it. Luikens will use Uher’s Light in them sticks on him soon and clear out the road.”
Sebastian furrowed his brows.
“Why didn’t he do it earlier for crying out loud?” Vellers growled, the Inquisitor was pacing back and forth irate all this time. “Use another mule, or something… anything!”
“The first chariot crashed on a Deliverer killing its Charioteers and most of the engineering crew. We were unable to locate the Assayer for twenty minutes after that,” Brukel responded pensively.
“He ran?” Vellers hissed on the verge of apoplexy.
“Aye, but he came back,” Brukel retorted and turned his attention on Sebastian. “You need to be with Sir Thor squire.”
“The lad can’t make it through the woods,” De Hove explained.
“He has to. Where is Sister Rita?”
“Inside,” Vellers replied rigidly. “Darn girl tries to salvage whatever she can of the abbey’s belongings and won’t leave.”
“I’ll talk with her,” Brukel assured him.
“Merkel escort the priest in there,” Vellers ordered with a shrug. “Avoid the parts of the ceiling still standing as it might come down on you without warning. Brother Danos and Sister Birgite were hit on their heads earlier with a half-burned ceiling board.”
Sebastian glanced at the Inquisitor alarmed, but Vellers offered nothing more about Danos’ or Birgite’s health, or chances of survival. A pensive Merkel made the sign of Uher’s ankh, seemingly certain they had none.
“Welp. That’s it then, praised be Uher. Now lad, find us a couple of good horses. Dora is waiting for me inside the Chestnut Copse,” Brukel told the distracted Sebastian and paused to touch his shoulder softly with a dirty hand. “Is the arm working at all?”
“It hurts to move,” he replied clenching his teeth and Brukel nodded with a purse of his lips.
“We have found Rumu’s spare horses inside the stables,” De Hove informed the priest. “Go see Rita and I’ll help Sebastos pick a couple of good ones.”
Sebastian walked inside the large Inn’s stables through the open doors after Vellers and De Hove. The large stone and timber building used by the abbey and the hospice as well, now stood relatively empty, but for half a dozen stalls.
“Those two browns,” De Hove suggested and Vellers turned to Sebastian.
“The Magister knows his horses,” he told him. “You did well today lad.”
Sebastian nodded and opened the dividers to get both horses out. He led them both inside the corridor between the rows of cubicles and went back inside the stalls to get the saddles.
“I mean it,” Vellers said and helped him fix the straps on the horses. “We could use more lads like you.”
“Was just trying to help 2nd Brother,” Sebastian replied feeling uncomfortable at the praise. “The church and its people gave me a fresh lease on life.”
“There’s more to the Inquisitors than fighting,” De Hove said watching them work on the saddles and Vellers grimaced.
“It doesn’t hurt to have at least that Magister,” he pointed out.
“Definitely. But then you need plenty of smarts also and a good nose for whatever sins people try to keep hidden,” De Hove continued all serious and Vellers agreed this time shaking his head. The Inquisitor’s white Issir hair cut very short. “The ability and stomach to extract those wayward secrets, excise the sins like the surplus fat from a piece of flesh in the form of a confession and then purify said weak flesh, over the hot coals… if the soul attached to it opts to remain foul.”
Sebastian gulped down nervously.
“Praised be Uher,” Vellers agreed. “Well said, magister. Still, young Sebastos has a good head on his shoulders. Rubbed off on that ungrateful brat Reinhart even,” he paused to make a face. “He actually did pretty well and I credit this lad for the small miracle.”
“I noticed it,” De Hove yielded and smiled at Sebastian’s discomforted face. “But surely Uher had a hand in it as well, on top of whatever our humble Sebastos did.”
Humility, or not, Sebastian wasn’t troubled so much about the praise, a bit perhaps, but more about what Sister Rita had told him. Sure, Reinhart had sort of discarded the whole thing, but still… it kept eating Sebastian from the inside.
“I heard… a weird rumor,” the squire started and the burly Magister’s smile grew.
“If you heard it from the soldiers, then they are probably pulling your leg lad. They do that to lasses and virgins,” he told him and Vellers smiled shaking his head.
“Ah, I heard… the queen had a daughter,” a blushed Sebastian managed to say and De Hove snorted in disbelief. Maas Vellers’ face though paled.
“Which queen? Elsanne? Because I’m certain that she didn’t,” De Hove said and glanced at the Inquisitor’s frozen face afore turning to the blushed squire. “It would be something if she did—”
“Queen Nienke,” Sebastian blurted out and Sande De Hove stood back unsure.
“Nienke had two sons. Late Prince Kasper, Uher bless his soul, and our young King to be, Antoon,” the magister said, not in the same mirthful tone as before. “Had she had a princess, I’m sure we would know all about it. Mayhap you mistake the late king’s sister for her?”
“Perhaps I heard it wrong,” Sebastian replied with a deep sigh and De Hove nodded with another glance at the silent Inquisitor.
“Lead the horses out good lad,” the Magister suggested. “Brother Vellers, how about we see if we can locate some good horses for us and brother Merkel?”
“I trust your expertise on the matter Magister,” Vellers replied readily. “You pick the horses and I’ll walk brother Sebastos outside.”
The distant sound of battle and explosions had died down, but heavy smoke and the fires burning behind them kept the atmosphere inside the destroyed Inn’s yard nigh unpleasant. Sebastian led the horses outside and allowed them to sniff at the ground for grass, holding at the reins and petting their manes with a hand to calm them down.
“The Magister may be austere, but he likes you well enough,” Vellers said in a friendly manner. “He trusts Brukel’s word about your character. You are a true believer Sebastos.”
“Isn’t everyone inside the Order?” Sebastian queried and glanced at the sober Inquisitor. Vellers smiled thinly and rubbed at his maimed hand. Most of it was gone and what was left behind had a wooden prosthetic arm attached to it, the closed fake fist covered with a leather glove.
“The river’s humidity makes it ache something fierce,” Vellers rustled thoughtfully noticing his stare. “Any change in weather. Makes it troublesome to travel. You have to, in our line of work. You have to do things, all that stuff Sande talked about inside… aye.”
“Apologies… I was out of line before,” Sebastian said.
“Not everyone is as devout,” Vellers replied to his query with a grimace. “We all have to make sacrifices for the common good.”
Sebastian nodded in agreement.
“The rumor…” Vellers asked, looking about them at the bombarded yard. “…when did you hear about it?”
“Recently,” Sebastian replied, unsure whether to speak about it more. “It’s probably nothing.”
“A lie,” Vellers said pursing his mouth.
Ah, Sister Rita would never lie. Why would she?
“But you don’t believe that,” Vellers continued reading Sebastian’s expression. “So it must be someone you respect enough eh? Maybe the rumor is true even. Imagine that. Was it Reinhart?”
Sebastian furrowed his brows a little surprised. “Ah, no it wasn’t him.” Why would Reinhart have any knowledge about this?
“Yeah, figured it wasn’t,” Vellers said and puffed out. Then he raised his maimed half-fake arm and pointed towards the smoking, ruins of Rita’s Inn. “Here they come. You’re about to leave us boy.”
Sebastian turned his head to see Brukel, but didn’t see anyone approach. He felt Vellers move though mostly because the horse shuddered in warning and the squire twisted on instinct saving himself. Sebastian’s left sleeve got sliced open from a dagger and he stepped back in alarm. His back hit the horse and it moved away, but the next moment Vellers wooden fist came down like a club.
The confused squire was struck on the right temple and collapsed to his knees, releasing the reins from his grip. Vellers advanced, seizing the unsteady Sebastian by the hair, intent on slashing his throat.
But he didn’t.
A dazed Sebastian looked up and felt hot blood rain in his eyes. The squire gasped in shock at the gruesome sight of Vellers butchered and hanging open mouth, the gory blade protruding out of his sliced lips, carved bloody gums and broken teeth.
The sword blade retreated with a squelching sound, leaving a ghastly wound behind and then Vellers collapsed to his knees, the dagger he planned to use on Sebastian clanging down. Magister De Hove’s imposing figure had materialized right behind the slain Inquisitor leader.
“What?” Sebastian huffed and tried to stand. De Hove reached with a beefy arm and seized the faltering Vellers by the waist. He hoisted him back and then stilled his cold eyes on the pale squire.
“Grab his legs,” he ordered in his deep voice.
“You killed—”
“Now lad,” De Hove cut him off abruptly. “Else, we’ll have more killing done.”
A shaken Sebastian helped the sober Magister carry the slain Vellers inside the stables, holding his legs.
“Inside the empty stall,” De Hove ordered dragging the faltering squire alongside the bleeding corpse. “Stand back and watch the doors,” he told him when they tossed Vellers inside, and stooped over the dead body to cover it with hay. “Move boy!” De Hove boomed hoarsely and Sebastian staggered back towards the open stable doors to watch for anyone coming.
His arms were shaking and the injured left started hurting anew, a fresh cut where his sleeve had been torn open leaking blood down his hand.
“I knew something was off,” De Hove rustled returning near the quivering squire. The Magister sucked on his teeth, his square jaw clenched tight and then glanced at the pale Sebastian. “What did you tell him?”
“I… didn’t,” Sebastian mumbled trying to regain his composure. “Just whatever I spoke about earlier.”
“About the rumor?”
“Aye. I don’t know what got into him,” Sebastian said and licked his lips.
“You stumbled on a secret it appears,” De Hove rustled. “What’s the matter with you? You shiver like a dinghy taking on water. Get a hold of yourself!”
“You killed an Inquisitor!” Sebastian snapped and De Hove reached to grab him by the throat. A heave to lift him up and the squire was plastered on the wall next to stable’s gates, the Magister’s meaty fingers wrapped around his neck.
De Hove didn’t just look strong. He was strong as a bull.
“To save you,” De Hove said near his sweaty face and gawking eyes. “Has it registered yet? Um?”
Sebastian nodded eagerly and De Hove let him drop down. He landed on rubbery legs.
“Listen up. Vellers went for a ride,” the Magister said hoarsely and peeked out of the stables. “He wanted to check on one thing, or other. That’s all we know about it. Nothing else happened. No rumors, no butchering. Yes?”
A flushed Sebastian stood up and then set his jaw.
De Hove sighed seeing his expression. “You’ll ride back to Sir Thor, help him out squire. After the battle is over and all this is a disturbing memory, we’ll talk again about this rumor. Can you do that?”
“What if I don’t make it?” Sebastian asked and the Magister stood back impressed. "What happens to the truth then?"
“Praised be Uher, Brukel is right.”
Sebastian had no idea what Brukel was right about. De Hove nodded once and then asked.
“Who told you?”
“Sister Rita.”
“Uhm. Why trust you?”
“I don’t know.”
De Hove nodded again. “I think I do know why. Same reason, I reckon. What else did she say?”
“To look for the Priest Knight of Midlanor.”
The Magister furrowed his thick white brows. “Her exact words?”
“Aye. I thought she meant the Templars—”
“The Templars are monks lad,” De Hove cut him off and then glanced directly south, where the gates of the Inn’s yards were located. A group of riders had appeared there. “How about Sir Kosters? He’s a knight of the Order, a priest himself.”
“You think she’s talking about him? Reinhart said…”
“Shush now. Of course it ain’t him. Context matters when you go about searching for hidden stuff Sebastos. This story could point to only one man and that man is long dead,” De Hove signed for him to keep quiet and he walked out of the stables to greet the arriving Lord Commander of the Golden Spears.
“Lord Commander,” De Hove said in his booming voice. “Walk under Uher’s Light. Sir Milo Kirstein,” he greeted the knight next to Sir Kosters. “Sir Iwan Dinter?”
“Iwan was killed this morning,” Sir Kosters replied pensively and pointed at the rosy-faced muscular squire riding behind them. “This is my cousin Paul. Paul, the big guy is Magister De Hove, 3rd Brother of the Inquisitors. He was a knight for a moon, then a priest, afore he joined the Inquisitors.”
“I’m still a knight and a priest, Albert,” De Hove replied with a hint of razz. “I just wear dark crimson robes over the fancy plate and alas, don’t get to show it as frequent as you.”
“Hah. Is Rita here? I’ve a broken bolt lodged in my shoulder, and it needs tending,” Sir Kosters grunted with a brief smile.
“I believe that’s her, right next to our Priest Brukel and brother Merkel. Brukel is carrying… a barrel? Unless I’m mistaken,” De Hove said and they all turned to watch the small group approach slowly.
Sebastian was too shaken still and went to get their horses. The animals had moved about to graze after the incident. The squire had trouble comprehending why Vellers had tried to murder him in cold blood. His brain was too shocked to put the pieces together and much slower to react than everyone else’s it appeared.
“You were the last man that talked with poor Sir Shane, right?” De Hove asked casually Sir Albert Kosters. “Why, you guys had grown up together. Chanted in the church choir and attended all those sermons through the years. I have it wrong?”
“Nay, I was,” a frowned Albert replied and casted a glance at the unassuming stance of the burly magister. “What brought him up De Hove?” He queried harshly.
“He died near here,” De Hove replied. “It’s in your own report, Sir Albert. We keep copies us Inquisitors, it’s the darn job,” the magister laughed briefly.
“It’s a sobering memory De Hove. A tragedy,” Sir Kosters grunted not amused and Sande nodded in agreement.
“I believe it is, Lord Commander,” he replied. “Someday, not today, we should look for his grave. Burn a candle for the man. Well, I should that is. I’m certain you’ve already searched for his remains and have the man buried properly.”
“I never had the chance.”
“Well that my good sir, is a tragedy.”
Instead of an answer Sir Albert Kosters turned his eyes on the approaching nun and remained silent.
“Help me get this on the saddle,” a sweaty Brukel told the solemn Sebastian and heaved the small barrel over the horse’s back. The squire –standing on the other side- grabbed it, then loosened one of the straps to sneak a rope under there, which then he looped around the barrel under the priest’s watchful eyes.
“What’s in this?”
“Some of the Abbey’s wine. Good wine,” Brukel explained.
“You thought of saving the wine at this moment?” Sebastian wondered aloud, whilst Sister Rita, Magister De Hove and Sir Albert Koster’s escort formed a separate group from them.
“What does the moment had to do with anything?” Brukel asked with a query of his own, and added. “Dora is waiting for us, but we need to hurry.”
Sebastian shook his head and then went to his own horse. With a grimace of pain because of his injured arm, the squire climbed on the saddle and waited for the heavy-set priest to do the same.
Five minutes later they were behind the burning buildings of Rita’s Inn heading north near Chestnut Copse’s edge and even further away from the smoking trees by the riverside road where Luikens and the Golden Spears were stationed.
“I had to ask for the wine to get Sister Rita out of the temple,” Brukel explained, taking Sebastian’s sober expression as disapproval. “Them Jung’s are stubborn people.”
“Are they sincere?” Sebastian queried and Brukel stood back on the saddle with a frown.
“The Jung family in general, or Sister Rita?” He asked Sebastian.
“Eh, it doesn’t matter,” Sebastian decided remembering what De Hove had told him. “Is the wine really good?”
“No. It’s a lousy wine, but I had to fake interest to give her hope for the future,” Brukel replied. “Something to set her mind to that could help her. So she can rebuild anew.”
“Will she?” Brukel asked and the priest shrugged his shoulders.
“All we rule is this moment Sebastos,” he told him. “We can’t leverage future noble actions in today’s deal, so I had to help Rita get through right this instant, anyway I could. Worry about the morrow, when its time comes.”
“Uher’s way?” Sebastian asked with a small grin.
“Brukel’s,” the priest shot back, pursing his lips as he cast a quick look at the sun shining overhead before fixing his gaze on the dense trees ahead. “There’s that fuming girl. Whatever happens, make sure to meet her gaze so she knows you’re genuine. Thor has tasked me with protecting her, and she’s been in a foul mood since yesterday. You know how the northern lasses are, whether they’ve their blood mixed or not.”
“I don’t really,” Sebastian murmured with a grimace of discomfort and Brukel sucked on his teeth afore replying with one word.
“Superstitious.”
Sergeant Ido Zeide
An hour later, afternoon of the 28th
Main Road plains, Issir Center
Tyfon’s attack
PAWOOO
URRUEE!
As it turned out the phenomenon didn't blow out on its own.
Well, fuck me straight to all-hells gates and back, Ido thought seeing a screaming soldier crash on the ground three meters away and burst open at the seams alike a leather sack filled with wine.
Two times over!
“Rotten hooves!” The usually unruffled Captain Kroneberg exclaimed and a mountain of flesh exploded out the rows of Lucas Funke’s soldiers, a long proboscis trumpeting and curved steel-tipped tusks swinging back and forth alike Oras scythe to smite anyone still standing upright instead of running away to save their lives.
Which was what intelligent people should have done.
“SPEARS!” A sergeant of the 4th Division bellowed –but you need a tree to stop these beasts, Ido thought as four more equally large beasts carved open Funke’s formation –as if to make it more interesting, and went straight for them. Bolts, arrows and javelins fired on the scattering soldiers from their crews, high up the large basket-like platforms that were secured on the war-elephant’s back with thick ropes and leather straps.
Kroneberg’s horse had seen enough and bolted in panic for the nearby trees, taking the yelling commander of the Division with it. Ido who had lost his loaned mount –the intelligent animal had run away at the first sight of the elephants- raised his arm holding a spear to hurl it at the nearest approaching behemoth.
The elephant’s small mean eyes –for the boulder-sized head- watched him falter forward on the shaking ground and let out ear-splitting warning toot that almost brought Ido down. The Issir sergeant managed to stay upright, yelping men hurled here and there, or high up in the air, took aim and went to hurl the spear feeling silly doing it. He changed target in the last possible moment –not to enrage the beast further- and lobbed it towards the beast’s room-sized strange saddle instead. Ido nailed a Cofol in the sternum and hurled him off of the charging elephant.
An ogled Ido quickly darted aside just in time, but a fellow soldier who had the same thought was struck by the swinging tusks and sent flying. The unfortunate man hit the ground awkwardly, bouncing once before landing directly in the path of the charging elephant. In an instant, the massive, stubby foot of the creature descended, and squashed everything above the trembling soldier's elbows. Head, torso, arms and all, turned into a gory unidentified paste. Ido went to leap on the saddle to reach the crew, too-scared to think intelligently in one hand, but absent a saner plan of action in the other, when another elephant came rolling at an angle right next to the first one and cut him off.
PAWOOOO!
URRUEE!
Eh… bullocks, Ido Zeide thought and felt a surge of frustration more than outright fear as the massive, slick tusk —thick as an oak branch— sank into his ribcage. He heard the sickening sound of bones shattering in quick succession before he was flung aside like a ragdoll, landing ten meters away.
As he soared through the air, Ido caught a glimpse of the chaotic battlefield below. The Issir front was now marred by deep, expanding lines of mushy gore, evidence of the beasts’ brutal advance. Then the sergeant crashed to the ground like a sack of bricks, plunging into darkness.
-
Tyfon’s special breed of war-elephants smashed through friend and foe –the Jang-Lu barely had the time to get out of their way, since a charging elephant won’t distinguish targets, or closely listen to instructions- and smashed Nanko Hospes’ 2nd Division, after going through the engaged Jang-Lu lines. They initially attacked at a compact front and two lines of ten huge armoured beasts per, but they quickly fanned out in groups, or on their own, demolishing anyone standing in front of them.
A large group of beasts hit Lucas Funke’s 1st Division at an angle, crashing next on Kroneberg’s 4th and fewer veered towards Clauberg’s advancing 3rd , who suddenly found himself flanked from three sides, with Taja’s battered but regrouping Jang-Lu on his front, Tyfon’s beasts to his west and Cephas Cataphracts to his east.
Cephas Mirpur had attacked at about the same time as Tyfon, but instead of hitting the hapless Clauberg, he opted to attempt to win the day with a followed up attack against the Issir machines. The latter had stopped firing and were slowly pushed forward to find the range again, followed by Jaren’s Crossbow Unit.
Followed up attack, because the Mirpur scion had to deal with Sir Thor’s Heavy Horse first. Cephas ordered his men to attack in a very wide front, split in three groups, the two smaller ones moving first out of the woods to draw the Issir knight’s reinforcements east and nearer to the Crimson Forest. This allowed Cephas to charge at Sir Thor Est Ravn’s west flank –near the army’s center- over the better ground. He did it placing each man and horse very close together, abandoning the wedge-shaped formation the Issirs expected, and creating a long wall of lances that rode out single file.
The Cataphracts kept their formation for almost the entire length of their charge, with the concealed under thick dust clouds shape changing to a large crescent –or a sickle- just before they hit the grouped up Issirs riders–hastily arranged in several rows on a narrower front to absorb a different formation. The crescent’s edges curved inward upon impact and effectively engulfed Sir Thor’s whole force in a steel ever-tightening fist.
‘Alas, it was a superb outing, impossible to counter,’ a sullen Sir Lennard Vulg commented after the battle, the Greywood Castle knight had been dispatched with a regiment of Midlanor’s reserve militia by a worried of a potential flanking attack Lord Anker, to reinforce Jaren’s Crossbows. Unfortunately a rogue unit of Horse Archers roaming the Issir rear areas since early morning had forced Sir Vulg to proceed slow and with extra caution under a barrage of arrows. This effectively kept him from intervening in time, but also close enough to stand witness of ‘Mirpur’s Sickle’.
It was a massacre.
spoilerish map about twenty minutes later - still afternoon