Common name Sebastian ‘Oats’
Seb/Bastian
The ‘Squire’
Red Bridge | the Mother of all Thunders
Part three
Act I
-By the grace of Uher & the Allgods-
In the heart of Crimson Forest, beneath the welcoming canopy of ancient oaks, towering maples, and the occasional chestnut, one could easily feel transported to another realm. A serene atmosphere enveloped the surroundings, occasionally interrupted by the melodious chirping of birds, the gentle babbling of nearby brooks, and the distant sounds of horses. We had escaped the deleterious fumes of the river road, the burning camps, and the charred remnants of trees. The once-black earth now shimmered in vibrant shades of deep green and rich brown. It felt close yet distinctly different.
However, from afar, an unusual sound broke through the dense thicket and its towering trees. It was a strange, erratic noise that ebbed and flowed, shifting from a low rumble to a high-pitched wail reminiscent of a strangled trumpet.
-
Dora Sloot, the statuesque woman of Issir complexion, but with long fiery-red hair, and piercing green eyes, had gotten increasingly more anxious.
Borderline hostile with the contemplative Sebastian and the sullen priest.
“Ye heard that?” Dora asked turning on the saddle to look at them. Their horses followed an animal trail through the ‘valley’, a patch of land inside the Crimson Forest that couldn’t support big trees. It had plenty of saplings growing and brushwood, but the ground wasn’t good for anything bigger.
“Might be an elephant,’ Brukel offered with a grimace, his hand holding a flask of wine, but not taking a sip.
“Fuck is an elephant priest?” Dora cursed and glared at Sebastian, as if daring him to say a word.
“Elephas Maximus or the bald,” Brukel expounded, pursing his mouth still undecided whether to imbibe or not. “Bears a passing resemblance to the wooly ‘Elephas Mamuthus’, living in the Far North according to Pliny’s Animalia. Of course half of Pliny’s ‘existing’ species are questionable at best.”
“My mother says, she heard Willard’s people speak of a big hairy, very ugly bear with big tusks, living where the ice is mostly blue,” Dora offered after musing on his words for a moment.
“Eh, not a bear for sure, what you’re describing,” Brukel rustled with a sigh and dropped the flask in an inside pocket stitched on his dirty robes. “Who is this Willard? What a bunch of crock! The ice doesn’t turn blue lass. It’s always white.”
“There are many Willards,” Dora explained with a frown. “I’ll take their word over yours priest,” she added and turned around to show them her back.
“Maybe she’s right,” Sebastian said, but Brukel grunted and gestured for him to keep quiet.
“Keep your eyes open,” the priest rustled looking at the greenery surrounding them. “There might be Horselords beyond them trees. I can see the forest opening up.”
-
right click to open map for more details, brief spoilers for second act
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Lady Marjory Vosman of nearby Quarterport, Lord Remko Vosman’s daughter and Sir David Isak’s wife, the latter of course the son of Baronet Emanuel Isak’s of Edge Castle, is said to have learned of her husband’s demise a whole week after the battle. Sir Isak and Mert ‘Greywood’ his squire, frequently hunted in Crimson Forest, was a known great hunter and pulled Hurbasa’s Cataphracts into a narrow trail instead of standing their ground. There he ordered his men to discard their lances, jump from the saddle and switch to close-combat weapons. Most likely Hurbasa was immediately cut down and his riders lost their momentum trying to navigate the alien terrain. At about the same time, Sir Pier-Jan Frances of Greywood Castle was dispatched by Sir Thor Est Ravn to assist Sir Isak (followed by Nelis Cobb), but he was attacked by Anebos’ Cataphracts, just as Cephas Mirpur charged at Sir Thor out of the trees.
While Cephas stratagem worked in a sense, as it had separated Sir Thor from his friends, a good number of Anebos’ men quickly split from his group and followed Cephas Mirpur’s banner. It was unfortunate, but not that strange, as these men’s wages, gear and animals were paid and maintained (with lands, slaves and herds for their own families) by Lord Mirpur, some of them had been riding with the Horselord and his family for decades. Due to this fact, Anebos’ flanking attack blocked Sir Frances from assisting Sir Isak (was also cut down at this point with a flail blow to the back of the head according to Mert ‘Greywood’), but failed to destroy the Issir men-at-arms.
Deeper inside the woods, Hurbasa’s men were defeated (after a great struggle) and Sir Frances managed to push Anebos back with the help of late Sir Isak’s surviving men-at-arms. The latter had followed the trail back to the beginning and reinforced Sir Frances.
About four hundred meters to their east and just outside the woods where the trees thinned out completely and gave way to the flat plains, the victorious Cephas regrouped for an attack against Jaren’s Crossbows and the Issir machines. These machines (around forty Scorpios and probably eight light catapults) were under the care of Brother Niclas Wasser, a member of the known in Uher’s Church circles family, with his fourth great-grandfather David Wasser the author of many ecclesiastical manuscripts the Issir monks had brought with them from Kaletha Triarchy. Wasser had moved the machines slantwise and forward to close with the retreating Jang-Lu of Taja, but had stopped firing when Clauberg’s 3rd Division caught up with them.
This happened right after Tyfon elephants’ charge, so it was perhaps the Khanate soldiers that had stopped to give battle, possibly with Muda-Zeket’s arrival. The latter had retreated from the mauled Jang-Lu center after Tyfon had arrived, but quickly realized that Cephas had moved out of the woods and Ishino Tyfon’s sudden attack had worked.
The Issir army faltered in the face of the charging beasts (at least five hundred soldiers were casualties, Captain Lucas Funke of the 1st Division amongst them), and Lord Grote’s center was splintered with Midlanor’s Shield barely escaping a harrowing death under a stampeding, wounded war-elephant’s foot. Captain Kroneberg’s 4th was cut in two, with the captain pushed west inside the woods and the rest of his 4th Division joining with the remnants of the 1st a hundred meters to the east and deeper in the plains. Lord Grote and Captain Hospes’ 2nd Division fared a little better as they counter-charged the beasts with spears and polearms from the sides, killing one and seriously wounding another by blinding it. The stampeding beast lashed out of control at anyone nearby, tossed the screaming Cofol handlers from its back and then galloped away.
A huge gap had opened up in the center of the battlefield with Clauberg fighting Taja and Muda-Zeket further up ahead and the rest of the army pushed back and to the west from Tyfon’s beasts. Master Ishino Tyfon with five war-elephants found himself occupying that gap, as the entire Issir east flank had moved south after Taja and the rest of the army had retreated westwards. They presented a fantastic target for Wasser’s machines, who quickly ordered the Issir artillery to aim and open fire on the idling beasts. Tyfon was probably pondering whether to turn around and smash the rear of Clauberg’s 3rd Division at this point in time, completely oblivious to the danger, or deaf and disoriented by the great devastating uproar he’d brought to the battlefield.
Eighty percent of the unscathed survivors had problems hearing after the battle, on top of being traumatized by the carnage. Although admittedly, the vast majority of those cases were caused by Wim Luikens’ concoction.
Cephas Mirpur saved Tyfon by ordering his tired men to charge at Wasser and his machines. While still relatively concealed by dust clouds and an afterthought for Jaren and Niclas Wasser, given what was happening at the army’s center, Cephas actions hadn’t gone unnoticed. Lord Anker had already dispatched Sir Lennard Vulg with a regiment of militia to help Jaren’s crossbow unit. Sir Vulg had gotten in trouble by roaming Horse Archers and Sir Hendrik Grote his good friend, (the Lord Shield’s son, Baron Sherman Grote) took the knights loitering around the Lord Regent at the latter’s insistence and galloped to Sir Lennard Vulg’s assistance.
The agonizing about the unfolding events Lord Regent, had replied to the young knight’s query about recalling Sir Joost’s riders from the west (they didn’t know the AredRavn scion had been killed at this point) in order to help Sir Vulg, with a curt gesture and response.
‘Why, what’s wrong with them? Look at all the fancy plate, crests and shiny shields!’ Lord Anker had wondered angrily, to which Sir Grote had replied.
‘My lord, these good men are here to protect you!’ which infuriated Anker even more.
‘Well, I rather drop dead than lose today Grote, which shall defeat their whole blasted purpose!’ the High Regent had noted gruffly. ‘So how about you ride out posthaste, put them to good use and I’ll just look to protect myself? Praised be Uher, I’ve gotten this far, reckon I’ll make it for a while longer on my own!’
Sir Grote scattered the Horse Archers and then chased them out of the field. This development freed up the harassed militia (the Horse Archers were probably low in ammunition by this point) and gave the opportunity to Sir Vulg to dispatch a fast rider to Jaren with a warning about a probable attack from the woods.
Well, the attack had already happened, Sir Thor’s force had been wiped out and Cephas Mirpur had regrouped in order to attack again. Even so, the notified Jaren and Wasser, abandoned their plans to bombard the elephants and hurriedly turned their attention to the south. Cephas saw the crossbowmen line up and the Scorpio crews turning their machines to face him, but whether he even considered a different course of action is unknown. Clauberg was vulnerable (and also the larger organized Issir unit in the field), he was faster than Tyfon (on tired horses though), and strategically the machines were the biggest of the Khanate army’s problems.
What he didn’t know, was that Rumen-Kot after drowning in indecision for a day, had finally moved out of the Pines Road camp and was now moving to provide artillery cover for Muda-Zeket’s Jang-Lu. The argument here being that the Issirs would still have had an advantage there, the moment Tyfon’s beasts were removed from the field.
Whether any of the above reasons played a role or not, it is unknown. Cephas might have looked to cement his own legacy, repair his relation with the Khan, or just acted on a pure sense of duty and the desire to win the battle.
King Lucius is said to have praised the Horselord’s courageous action after reading the reports, as this battle was of great interest to him. ‘A valiant cavalry officer can’t miss this presented opportunity. This is an argument born out of fear. Muda-Zeket was holding his own, but Wasser’s machines would have resumed mowing down his soldiers. When you are losing to attrition or due to a bad disposition of forces, delaying the inevitable, which in this case would have forced Cephas –or someone else- to eventually deal with the Issir artillery, is detrimental to the bigger picture. You’ll be further tired, even more weakened, or incapacitated and another unit might not be available down the line. If Tyeus gives you the option to end the biggest threat in the field for your men, then you do it and don’t consider the personal cost. A victorious general’s army shall honor him with a triumph or a parade, even if the man has perished. A destroyed army though, shall offer nothing of the sort to a surviving general.’
So the noble Horselord scion led his Cataphracts to a slight trot at first and then charged head on at Jaren’s and Wasser’s men. Two minutes into their charge, almost a foot long steel crossbow bolts and two meter long iron Scorpio projectiles pummeled the Khanate’s smiling knights.
But while many men and horses fell, the Cataphracts didn’t stop.
-
Cephas Mirpur
The Issir armoured crossbowman dropped his weapon and staggered back, letting out a desperate cry of pain. Cephas pivoted on his saddle to keep the wounded foe in sight, while Amir, his warhorse, gracefully spun around to assist him. Both the Cataphract and the horse had angled to move towards the crossbowman, the man still had a portion of Cephas’ broken lance protruding from his right thigh, when a heavy thud echoed amidst the chaos.
It had reached Cephas’ ears through the helm’s slits.
Amir shuddered under him, releasing an angry neigh from his frothy lips. An alarmed Cephas snapped the other way, and caught sight of another Issir hacking at the horse’s head all furious. Once and it caught Amir’s head cover. Twice and the ring-armour stopped the worst of it, split rings detaching, and the hurt horse turned away to escape from the determined enemy soldier.
The Issir went for another blow, but Cephas kicked a leg out and knocked the man’s head back, opening a deep gash on his face with the steel spurs. Amir faltered to its knees and Cephas had to jump from the saddle, managed to land on his feet, but lost control of the saber. He stooped to pick it up from the ground and a bolt smacked his right side. It went through the armour, caught flesh and skin –missing his ribs- and frayed a deep bloody tunnel on its way out.
“Eargh,” Cephas grunted, the sharp sting fueling his adrenaline and dived for the warhorse’s saddlebags, giving up on the saber. He found his own crossbow and unhooked it, the Issir that had shot him already reloading not five meters away. The Horselord pulled a bolt out of the wooden quiver and pointed the crossbow down to press the bolt in. He snatched the taut string with two fingers -it almost slipped his grip- and notched it, while the Issir was doing the same thing.
His crossbow differently built and with an easy to use crank system that primed the bolt automatically.
Bloody hell! Cephas cursed through clenched teeth redoubling his efforts, half-a-moment afore a bolt struck his helm and sent it flying off his head. Dazed and with his head ringing, the Horselord took a backwards step to regain his footing. Fully aware he’d no time spare, he raised his crossbow to fire, only to realize the gawking Issir –looking equally tensed as him- had reloaded again -for a third time.
You blasted demon!
With a deep breath Cephas decided to change strategy, force himself to calm down and aim carefully. The Issir fired again, the bolt came whistling through the air and slammed the Cataphract’s left shoulder with brutal force. It knocked Cephas back, but he gritted his teeth with teary eyes, fought through the pain and shot a broadhead-type bolt that sunk into the Issir’s forehead, angled upwards scrabbling his brains, and exploded out the back of his opponent’s skull.
A number of Cataphracts went after the scattered Issirs, crossbowmen and machine crews, but a whole lot of them were unable to give chase into the woods. Their horses blown after two quick charges, shot-up with bolts, much as their riders. A strewn of mutilated, broken bodies, left behind them on the ground they had just traversed. The injured Cephas found his saber and picked it up, several more Cataphracts coalescing around him, the others furiously attacking the Issir machines with maces and warhammers trying to destroy them.
“Master Mirpur!” Anach cried out stopping nearby and dismounted quickly. The slave had brought Warlock with him, which was fortunate as Amir had been too-hurt to continue. The horse was still sitting on the ground, breathing heavy and watching the chaos unfold all about him. The elephants’ sharp, trumpet-like calls from not that far away, interrupted the noise of the battle and added to the pandemonium.
“Bring it here!” Cephas grunted, still looking for his masked helm. He located it and quickly picked it up, just as another group of Cataphracts arrived.
“Revas?” Cephas crooked his mouth. “Why aren’t you with Anebos, son of Behtar?”
“I came to die with Mirpur’s scion,” Revas retorted lifting his mask to reveal a tanned, sweaty face. “Or Behtar shall learn all about it. Don’t want the dead bastard to follow me and my horse around.”
“I’m trying to win in honor, not die Revas!” Cephas blasted him with a grimace of pain.
“Same thing,” Revas replied clenching his jaw. “Great Sheik.”
“What happened to Anebos and Hurbasa?” Cephas grunted and used a wet towel Anach offered him to cool his sweaty face.
“I didn’t see them,” Revas admitted. Cephas puffed out, his eyes on the men’s attempts to destroy or damage as many of the Scorpios as they could. A Cataphract with a spyglass rode near them.
That guy from Shao Na-Lan, the tired, bleeding Cephas couldn’t remember his name.
“Infantry marching here from the north,” the Horselord reported.
“How many horses with them?” Cephas asked pursing his mouth.
“Too few and between future Sheik,” the man thought about it for a moment. “They are not regulars. I could see tents and banners behind the dust cloud they’ve raised from here. Strange big trees amidst the plains.”
The ‘Waterhole’ by the plains Willows, Cephas thought.
“Don’t pursue the crews,” he quickly ordered, a shudder forcing him to stop, when Anach touched the bloody bolt still stuck in his shoulder. The buried in his flesh tip grazing the bone. “Hear me sons of the Great Steppe!” Cephas continued with a deep breath. “Those with spare horses or any horses, ready yourselves comrades! We’ll strike at the Issirs yet again!”
“Many are too injured to ride, future Sheik,” the Shao Na-Lan Cataphract noted, half of the remark directed to the injured Cephas himself.
“Those of you that can’t ride stay here and keep smashing their machines. I won’t. This Mirpur has one more charge left in him afore the sun sets,” Cephas retorted with a clench of his jaw. “I’m not allowing these militia men retake the machines.”
“Lord Cephas,” Revas said looking to the south. Fresh dust clouds billowing up behind them. “There are more horses coming. Might be ours.”
-
Sebastian
Suddenly, the landscape expanded before us, golden sunlight illuminating the scarred earth, and the sounds of conflict became distinctly audible. In the distance, we could hear men battling, the trumpeting of beasts echoing, while the air was thick with the scent of freshly mown grass mingled with the stench of death. The clearing ahead was hauntingly silent. Blood stained the ground, and gore was splattered over flattened scrubs. Fallen bodies of both men and animals lay scattered, some on top of each other, with bloody swords, cracked heater shields and broken lances abandoned beside them.
The late afternoon slowly slipping away idyllically, nature’s colors vimbrant, but that disconcerting sense of calamity seeping into our skin, and our young hearts, framed in the distant backdrop of tiny white-grey beasts crashing a sea of ants. The whole picture could have been an Ireneo Sarkozy oil painting I suppose, a semi-mythical allegory of humanity’s struggles, but alas, it was all real.
-
“Keep your eyes open!” Brukel warned and tried to stop Dora from riding ahead amidst the scattered slain, both Cataphracts and Knights, towards an even bigger batch of bloody corpses grouped together about fifty meters away. The woman avoided the priest with a curse. She rode fast, looking nervously at the slain bodies left and right, afore she caught sight of several men gathered around the edges of the forest to their east. Dora galloped there and the Issirs scattered, but for a couple of them.
Sebastian went after her, followed by the murmuring priest, who fumbled inside his saddlebags to locate a spyglass, wrinkled dark face turned ashen to match his beard.
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“Where is he?” Dora resounded irate at the two shell-shocked Issir squires standing by a broken, dried up tree, standing amidst the red-leafed Maples. From the distance a worried Sebastian thought it resembled the ancient –long dead- Dracaena tree located inside the city of Midlanor’s palace gardens, he’d heard a drunken Thor talk about on many occasions.
‘Klara loves that tree,’ the Est Ravn scion used to tell him.
His horse snorted in anger and came to a stop ten meters away, as the grim-faced Sebastian had recognized Cinnamon standing on the left side of the small group, next to a couple of other saddled Issir horses and one that wasn’t.
“Ah, damn it all to hell,” Brukel was heard cursing, still atop his own horse and looking through the spyglass, just as Dora let out a scream that chilled Sebastian’s blood. The guttural wail turning into a distressed repeated query.
“Oi-yah, look at what they did to you,” Dora wailed miserably throwing herself over the hidden body laid under the dead tree, the two squires had kept from the approaching, completely speechless Sebastian.
Praised be the Five, the rattled teenager prayed halting on weakened legs. Bathed in Uher’s holy light.
For another morning shall arrive.
“Look at what they did,” Dora wept sounding at her wits end and Sebastian felt his head spinning, the pain on his arm dulling and his bandaged face numbing.
“Tyfon cut through Lord Grote’s men,” Brukel grunted gravely, his horse’s chest pushing the devastated Sebastian away. “This is a calamity in the blasted making,” the priest added hoarsely and reached down to grab Sebastian’s shoulder. The pain returning on his injured arm tenfold, and it felt like a jolt to his system.
The worn-out squire couldn’t handle.
“Argh! Look at what they did!” Dora roared angrier now in a strangled voice and turned around to glare at the pale Sebastian. “WHERE WERE YOU?” She blasted him and stood up, both her hands covered in gore, matching her hair. “That’s poor Todd right there! Where were you? You cowardly vagrant! You cursed leech!” Dora screamed and marched against the shaken squire, until the priest, who had dismounted in the meantime, got between them. He had to physically push the furious young woman away and it was far from easy, despite Brukel’s bulk. It almost turned violent, as Dora was armed with a shortsword, but the sound of heavy galloping coming from nearby forced them to put an end to the altercation.
“Get your sword out!” Brukel barked at Sebastian, “and stop apologizing! It wasn’t your fault!”
The shaken Sebastian had failed to realize he kept monotonously repeating that he was sorry to the –once again- wailing in misery Dora.
“Darn it boy!” Brukel boomed and gave him a shove that almost sent him to the ground. Sebastian stumbled sideways, found the bloated carcass of a slain horse, covered with buzzing flies and sat down on it.
All for naught.
Why?
The sound of horses drowning the distant battle’s reverberation and even the paranoid toots Tyfon’s beasts produced.
The conversation holding little meaning to the devastated Sebastian that stared at the distance with open eyes, but seeing nothing.
“Sir Frances,” Brukel rustled. “Where are the rest of the men?”
“We have injured inside the woods,” came the knight’s reply, his voice crackling. “Sir David Isak was killed.”
“LOOK AT WHAT THEY DID!”
“Horselords feinted a flank attack. We cut them down in the woods, but it was all a ruse,” Sir Frances explained sounding rattled. “They moved faster than us… eh, Sir Thor… is he? I sent Nelis and Mert ahead of us to warn him.”
Sebastian turned to stare at the Issir knight hopefully, caught sight of the priest’s sullen scowl accompany Sir Frances grimace of despair and felt all hope whisked away.
“They are attacking Brother Wasser’s artillery my good lad,” Brukel told him. “No time for mourning.”
“Priest, our center collapsed,” a disturbed Sir Frances argued. “I don’t have the men—”
“You’ve men enough!” Brukel growled and Sebastian breathed out in despair. “Steel your spine darn it! Uher watches us!”
Uher doesn’t want this, Sebastian thought. We are in the wrong.
All a lie.
“This our punishment,” Sebastian murmured and Brukel heard him. He turned around and marched on the shaking squire. “We can’t win. Gods are against us—”
Brukel heavy cuff sent him sprawling to the ground and off of the horse’s carcass. The stitches on his face broken and fresh blood leaking through the bandages.
“You want to give up? Shit gotten too-tough all of a sudden? Suddenly you lose something and it’s too much? We have all lost people lad! Is that what you think we are doing here?” Brukel growled and grabbed his good arm to stand him back on his legs. “What are you fighting for lad? What are these men fight for? Do you know, I wonder?”
A flushed Sebastian touched the wet bandage on his cheek and felt blood on his fingertips. “Nienke had a daughter,” he croaked and the heavy-set priest got in his face, breath smelling of dry onions and sermon wine. “Uher shall cast down all deceivers,” Sebastian added in a whisper.
“What if you’re wrong? What does it say about the deceived? The meak… eh?”
Sebastian grimaced.
“And what if she had? How is this important now?” Brukel hissed, spittle flying out of his mouth with some landing on his beard. “King, or Queen it matters not to the brothers dying at the bridge and those rotting inside the forest! That’s not what we’re fighting for here! Why men flocked to Anker’s banner! You think they like him? Or that they liked the old King and any of his spawns? People first and foremost fight for land and country lad. For their own blasted families, not to be dragged across the pond and sold off in the Peninsula’s markets! You think you’re pious?” Brukel asked grabbing Sebastian’s collar. “Too-aggrieved because Thor got cut down? Well, so did his brother and he was twice the man Thor ever was. By gods I still liked that rascal and knew him way longer than both of you!”
“That’s enough Brukel. Leave the lad alone,” Sir Frances grunted.
“The lad can take it,” the priest retorted. “And you’ll drive the Horselords away from Wasser my good knight. Now, afore it is too late.”
“You’ll kill us all priest.”
“I’ll go,” Sebastian said and Dora raised her head to stare at them.
Sir Frances stood back on the saddle, a strange expression on his face and then glanced at the sober men-at-arms watching the scene unfold. The knight raised his hand to wipe some of the grime off his face under the helm and then breathed out. “Any man wiling to follow me, I’ll personally petition Lord Anker for a knighthood, or I’ll knight them myself,” he finally told them gruffly, and it was unclear whether he was angry with himself, the priest, or Sebastian.
“I’m ready now. Need none o’ that,” Dora decided hoarsely. “Let’s just kill some Khanate dogs.”
“You’ll stay with Thor,” Brukel intervened. “See if you can move him near his father and your son.”
“A warrior is buried where he fell man of Uher!” Dora hissed and Brukel puffed his cheeks out. “I got his weapon for our boy.”
“Uher give patience! Don’t give me that old world crap woman! We can’t just leave him to the plaguing wild mongrels! He’s a lord’s son darn it and Lord Anker is fresh out of those!” He retorted crustily. “By the all saints, can’t you just do what you’re told?”
“Priest, you should stay with her,” Sir Frances intervened. “Nelis. You find a good horse and ride to the rear now boy. Report to Lord Anker that we’ll attempt to dislodge the Cataphracts from the field.”
“What else sire?” Nelis Cobb asked with a nervous glance at the body of Thor. Sebastian could only see the knight’s legs from where he stood.
“Nobody back there is a fool squire,” Sir Frances remarked hoarsely. “They’ll know.”
“I’ll come with you,” Sebastian repeated and the knight stared his way with a scowl.
“Squire, you are injured. Can you even hold a lance, or use a sword? Talk is cheap brother Sebastos.”
A glowering Sebastian unsheathed his blade, fingers clenched on the grip.
“Very well then,” Sir Frances responded simply, closed his helm’s visor and clicked his tongue to get his horse going. The men-at-arms following suit after him.
Sebastian had to race to his horse and then ride hard to catch up with them.
Uher’s healing light! The squire prayed seeing the Horselord working the Scorpio loose a bolt from almost point blank range at the incoming knight. The iron spear-shaped projectile struck the horse’s chest, slashed through its flesh and the wooden saddle, and then stabbed the knight’s groin, the tip bursting out of his hip.
Cinnamon, Sir Thor’s horse, turned to avoid the machine and Sebastian downed his arming sword half on the saddle, half off of it. The blade thudded on the mail coif the Horselord had on. So heavy was the impact it cracked the bone underneath, caved his cranium and expelled the man’s right eyeball from its socket. Sebastian gasped at the horrific wound, already three meters away, and turned his torso, moving the sword at the same time parallel to the ground, in order to slash at a Cataphract that had moved to cut him off.
The blade found metal plate and got deflected, but the blow dropped the Horselord from the saddle. Sebastian twisted the other way -his left side- Cinnamon snorting as he slowed down to avoid another horse and a thrusting lance punched through the groaning squire’s leg, its steel blade stopping on the horse’s wooden saddle.
“Argh!” Sebastian mumbled and hacked at the lance, chopping it off, Cinnamon’s head bumping on the Cataphract’s mount as the thoroughbred turned as well to dance around the armoured horse.
The Horselord used the broken shaft to smack Sebastian on the helm he had on, the cheap metal resounding like Uher’s Bells, but when he attempted to do it again the snarling teenager’s sword caught the masked Cataphract under the armpit. Blood splashed down, as the horses mingled with others arriving amidst the machines.
The vicious brawl a frenzied mess.
A disturbed Cinnamon leaped over gory corpses where he could, or crashed them underneath his hooves. Sebastian used the injured arm, manically gritting his teeth, to dislodge the broken lance from his maimed leg. Once and he moaned loudly at the fresh jolt of pure agony, almost losing consciousness, but then he let out a primal growl and pulled the bloody shaft out.
Sebastian sunk on the saddle to find his courage, already worn out from fighting for a second straight day and thrice injured, but a Horselord rushed him with a three-headed flail. The spiked balls whooshed over his head and Sebastian slipped from the saddle in his attempt to dodge and strike at the same time.
He tumbled with a yelp over a dead Issir that broke his fall, and then stopped next to a machine that had its arms smashed with his back. Sebastian took a rugged breath, but saw Sir Frances go down with a savage Warhammer blow that went through his elbow -blasting gore everywhere- afore it clanged on the knight’s helm and rushed to action again with a snarl.
The Cataphract saw Sebastian rushing him on foot and calmly switched weapons, hooking the Warhammer on his saddle and unsheathing a long saber. Then he kicked with his legs and sent the armoured warhorse forward. Sebastian twirled to avoid the large animal, but the horse’s Chamfron encased head smacked his right shoulder and almost bit Sebastian’s nose clean off, the large square teeth snapping shut too-close for comfort.
Flaying the nose’s skin off from bridge to tip.
Blood-covered and half-blinded the squire dropped to a knee, put the other foot down to find much-needed leverage and growled when his injured leg buckled. He realized the mounted Cataphract’s shade now towered over him. Sebastian let out a grunt when the heavy saber slashed open his chest armour, the savage killing blow knocking him back. The squire/young initiate of the Order blinked in stunned disbelief, young face bathed in the slowly setting summer sun’s light, when he realized the cheap leather armour had caught the damage.
Praised be the Five.
Bathed in Uher’s Light, for another morning shall arrive.
Sebastian, now fully invigorated mentally by the perceived miracle, moved forward determined. The Cataphract, he’d half-turned his horse away assuming the squire had been gutted, snapped his head when he saw him still moving and failed to spot a man-at-arms sneaking up on him in the wicked ruckus.
No erstwhile night can forestall.
The Issir’s spear stabbed the Cataphract’s sides, but the Horselord immediately twisted his torso feeling the blade and put his left hand on the shaft. The mounted man-at-arms heaved the spear with both arms to skewer the Khanate’s knight fully, managed to shove him off the saddle, but got slashed across the face and went down himself.
Sebastian rounded the armoured horse, and all but lost his head as the injured -but still on his feet- Cataphract, waited for him right behind it. The squire ducked instinctively and slashed at the cursing Horselord who had lost his helm in the tumble. Their blades clashed with sparks flying and Sebastian hacked at his opponent again, only to be cut under the forearm through the mail sleeve. With a grunt Sebastian changed grip on the blade, stepped away and slashed at the Horselord in parting, his sword yet again connecting with the Cataphract’s body.
“Eargh,” the Horselord grunted in his turn and halted, his bloody and chipped blade lowering. A deep bloody gush had been opened above the bleeding tear left by the spear earlier, the handmade sturdy scale armour he had on, with the intricately engraved chariot on the chest plate, now thoroughly defeated.
So say we all.
The Horselord stared at Sebastian intently for a moment and then coughed up a splash of blood that painted the lower part of his chin red, down to his neck. With a guttural warning growl he prevented Sebastian from attacking again and carefully surveyed the fight still raging all about them. Then he turned his slanted eyes to the north and Sebastian did the same. Less than fifty meters away Midlanor’s militia’s Chimera banners approached billowing at the soft summer breeze. The soldiers’ raised spears shifting back and forth, shiny conned helms bobbing up and down from the fast marching rhythm.
“What’s your name Issir?” The Horselord asked in fluent Common, stooping with a pained groan to pick up with his left hand the bloodied, but engraved masked helm. He’d a bolt sticking out of the plate on his shoulder.
“Sebastos,” the squire blurted out still grasping the sword’s handle tight, unsure why the man had chosen to stop the fight.
“Respected,” the Horselord translated. “You used magic Sebastos?”
“Nay. I follow Uher’s word.”
“You must be very devout then,” the Horselord leader decided and tapped at his horse’s rear to make it follow him as he walked over the slain men and animals towards an ammunition wagon with broken wheels. Sebastian went after the injured man, the fight dying down very quickly, mostly because the demoralized survivors tried to disengage from the Issir men-at-arms (due to the infantry’s imminent arrival) but got overwhelmed even faster because of that.
“Midlanor is here!” Someone yelled and the worn out men-at-arms redoubled their efforts to put down the cornered Horselords that appeared to be very sluggish and on dead-tired animals. The latter perhaps the biggest factor.
“Slay the Heathens!” More elated shouts came, courage returning tenfold and Sebastian spotted some of the crews and crossbowmen that had run away earlier, now return to join the battle pretending they had never left in the first place.
The Horselord Leader watched some of that coldly and then sat down on a broken wheel, with his back on the wagon. He placed his saber and helm on the ground next to him, then reached back with a gloved hand to rub at his snorting horse’s muzzle that had approached to rest it over his shoulder.
“You’ve won here Sebastos,” he assured him noticing the pale squire standing undecided a couple of meters away. “But if you wish to win the battle, you have to best Tyfon also, afore you run out of blood and willing men to follow you.”
Uher shall never run out of followers, the squire thought. But…
“Horses fear Elephants,” Sebastian argued unsure whether to finish the Horselord off or not.
“And now you know why,” the foreign warrior said with a grimace of pain, the blood pooling under his chin. “Use fire.”
Sebastian was thinking on using the machines.
“Will it work?” The squire queried and the Horselord pressed the back of his head on the wagon's sides, his eyes closed afore answering with a hint of razz.
“That is for the brave to discover. Aye, our ancestors’ spirits have gathered over yonder, on top of their favorite horses. They watch us, see whether we take the coward’s way out,” he replied hoarsely and reached with his right hand to grab the stained helm. The Horselord flipped it in his hand and wore it covering his head. A smiling face regarded Sebastian now.
“Swing that blade true Sebastos.”
Sebastian gulped down, sucked at his hurting gums and then lifted the arming sword high, after taking a forward step to approach the injured Cataphract.
“Such carnage… over pride,” the Horselord murmured in a muffled cracking voice and looked at him with alien eyes. “What are you fighting for Sebastos?” He queried hoarsely.
“Our land and our people,” Sebastian rustled and he wanted to add Uher in there also, but the squire was too-injured, dead-tired and traumatized to manage it.
The unknown Horselord leader gave a subtle nod at that. “That's quite sufficient,” the injured man declared, his meaning unclear. It was uncertain whether he was referring to his own deeds or if he had deemed Sebastian's response acceptable. Be that as it may, moments later, Sebastian's sword struck down with a heavy thud, bringing the discussion to a close.
-
Cephas Mirpur smashed Jaren’s crossbowmen and Wasser’s machine crews charging into a hail of bolts, losing half his force during the charge. Despite the initial costly success though, Jaren put up a heroic defense, got killed in the process, but gave the chance to some of Brother Wasser’s crews to escape towards the nearby woods. The Cataphracts attempted to give chase, but they had blown their horses and Sir Frances knights had won against Anebos and Hurbasa half a kilometer behind them at the edge of Maple Grove. Sir Lennard Vulg’s soldiers, now freed from the Horse Archers after Sir Hendrik Grote’s intervention, resumed marching double-time towards the Issir artillery positions. While Cephas spotted them, he couldn’t attack before regrouping his men and he opted to do that, probably to allow the horses a brief respite.
Sir Pier-Jan Frances riders returned to their starting position and found Dora Sloot lamenting over Sir Thor’s remains. Whether his fiancé found him first or the then still a squire Sir Nelis Cobb, isn’t clear in the records. The ‘Brave Reverend’ –Priest Brukel- had arrived there at about the same time with Brother Sebastos, one of his protégés at the time (several different versions of this event exist today, with some suggesting it wasn’t the reclusive Sebastos, but one of Sir Thor’s presumed lost squires, or even that both men were the same person) and urged Sir Frances’ worn-out and demoralized men to stop the Cataphracts.
The knight accepted the responsibility to at least make an attempt to curtail Mirpur, who had he been allowed to rest or even survive to nightfall, then he would have considerable control of the battlefield the next morning, if things remained unresolved. The latter a bit deceptive, a fallacy pushed by younger historians to belittle the Khanate’s heavy cavalry wing’s prowess and alter the record. This author firmly believes (after taking note of many strategists opinions on the matter) that the skilled Horselord would have attacked again before nightfall, probably towards the Issirs rear, or even Lord Anker’s unprotected position itself. So the danger was even bigger than that and no the Issir cavalry -by this point in the battle mauled on both flanks- couldn’t have dealt with both Mirpur and Tyfon roaming the plains at all.
Sir Frances led his men in a conservative charge that caught the Horselords amidst their regrouping efforts and won by the skin of his teeth. Well ironically, the knight was hit with a mace or a hammer on the helmet and the blow shattered the lowered part of his jaw causing permanent damage. Sir Frances also had to amputate an arm under the elbow, after he dug the bone fragments out of his flesh in two separate operations months after the battle. The gruesome injuries he received forced the brave knight into an early retirement. An unnamed squire* (according to Brother Sebastos) rose up prominently during the vicious struggle that saw Cephas Mirpur killed and the Cataphracts slain to the last man.
At the end of the bloody scuffle near the machines the Issirs had less than twenty men-at-arms available (Brother Sebastos names nine survivors, but still ironically simply refers to the young Issir as a ‘squire’ in passing, with another thirty-five regular soldiers getting horses and spears to join him on the spot) to use against Tyfon. This young man climbed on a magnificent red horse (probably Sir Thor’s thoroughbred Cinnamon) and roused the drained Issirs to make one last attempt to stop the rampaging elephants. Some of the beasts had been killed, but by now Tyfon had managed to calm down and gather a group of seven, which he was ready to turn against Clauberg’s Division. He only needed to break their spirit and free Muda-Zeket’s (and Taja’s) Jang-Lu to march through the collapsed Issir army’s center. Straight for the Red Bridge and Quarterport, with only Lord Anker’s entourage standing in their way. Had the Horselords crossed Balworth River and taken Quarterport then the war would have continued in Midlanor come next season or gotten lost outright for the Issirs, irregardless of what transpired at Mid Bridge. Luikens’ force would have been caught between the bridges and wouldn’t have been able to stop the Horselords from crossing over eventually.
Brother Sebastos brief text describing it best and religious undertones aside, it is the closest we have of this heroic action, absent any survivors allegedly.
-
There he stood that miserable young man, walking on thin knees and shaking legs. Half-blinded he stumbled near Brother Wasser’s engineers and Sir Vulg’s shell-shocked at the carnage young soldiers and reminded them of the task left unfinished. This wasn’t the time to breathe out in relief for surviving the hapless Sir Frances foray, but the opportunity to not let all these brave men’s efforts be for naught.
‘All this carnage, the many friends and close family lost,’ the squire said and for some inexplicable reason grown men turned to listen to him. Uher’s divine hand touching his shoulder and keeping him upright without a doubt. The god’s presence so thick in the air, I weep at the memories even to this day. I weep for all those far worthier than myself that are now gone, noble sons and daughters stripped from this realm. ‘We shan’t fear the aberrant Heathen’s beasts. We shan’t fear death or righteous sacrifice,’ the squire preached and men followed his advice to light torches or wrap cloth soaked in oil to their spear tips. Some carrying Scorpio bolts on their saddles. ‘Those of us the Allgods spare, shall hang the heathen’s flesh on a butcher’s meak to regard in wrathful judgement, assured that their foulness no wicked witchery shall revive. We shall do this and if we are spared yet again, then we shall serve the Five from a different post.’
After his words were spoken, the feeble squire was carried to the horse and propped up on the saddle with a burning spear in hand. Tyeus and Uher combined inside a frail body to give it strength. Oras averting his dark gaze from them for a while. Luthos guiding their horses through a hail of arrows and javelins, the ground shaking under their horse’s hooves. The setting sun’s crimson colors dancing over the ravaged fields and the sinister bulky beasts trumpeting turned into a melodic hymn by Naossis’ touch. A sermon whispered in each man’s ears, and the promise of righteous deliverance from all sins.
-
‘By the grace of Uher and the Allgods,’ the unnamed squire reportedly had yelled, ‘Follow me men of Midland!’ and charged the surviving Issir Heavy Cavalry against Ishino Tyfon’s War Elephants.
Tyfon had waited to see whether Cephas succeeded in neutralizing the machines, but upon realizing –probably by the Church’s banners raised- the Mirpur scion had failed, turned his elephants around in a wide circle, abandoning his plan to attack Clauberg’s rear and led them against the Issir reclaimed artillery to neutralize it once and for all. The small Issir attacking force intercepted the lumbering beasts before they could open up the pace. The Issirs brandished torches and had lit up the tips of their spears –not in an effort to illuminate the terrain as it was still bright enough- which disturbed the elephants greatly.
Their formation broke up with scared horses and trumpeting beasts trying to avoid each other, but failing in most cases. Men and horses were trampled underfoot, but the elephants didn’t engage the riders carrying the torches and some brave Issirs reached close enough to attack their crews or maim the beasts’ legs. Some say the squire leaped from the saddle despite his injuries and reached Tyfon’s carriage. In the ensuing dogfight inside the tight confines of the carriage the Cofols attacked the brazen squire with knives, cleavers and maces but failed to put him down. Tyfon was slain, his body tossed from the carriage and his unguided, fully enraged and wounded beast crashed onto another elephant’s sides goring it with its tusks.
Ten minutes into the savage struggle, the soberly watching the bloody carnage Brother Wasser’s heavy Scorpios opened fire. The steel bolts landed amidst friend and foes. In some cases it took four or five of them to take a single armoured beast down –most bolts missed after that first volley, as the surviving elephants reacted on instinct to their brethren’s plight and headed straight for the Scorpios from all over the battlefield. One wrathful behemoth even made it across the field to destroy four machines and kill twenty Issirs before succumbing to its injuries.
Few survived an encounter with Tyfon’s beasts. One notable exception was the Issir sergeant Ido Zeide, who was found still breathing after the battle under a fallen tree. He had suffered fractures on all his limbs and a shattered spine, but the man survived –if one can call it that- and is a permanent fixture today for the visitors to the site. The elderly sergeant is living in Sister Rita Jung’s sanatorium and is frequently carried with his bulky wheel-chair to the famed battle’s grounds to recount –for a modest fee- his ever-growing with each passing season personal memories of the events.
*Several unconfirmed witnesses suggest the mauled young Issir had received nasty injuries to his arms and especially the face which perhaps explains the difficulty to be properly recognized by the arriving soldiers of Sir Vulg. His body wasn’t recovered after the battle and the reclusive then and now, but also extremely well-respected by Uher’s Church Brother Sebastos (curiously rumored to be a cripple and a deeply scarred man himself) never mentioned him in his writings again.