Beyond The Veil (Renaissance/Fantasy War fic)

[xalvissx]

First time posting on QQ. Welcome to my fiction !

Alright, so after a whole bunches of research I've decided to write a story of my own that I have long wanted to make. I'll try to make it as realistic as possible, though inaccuracies are still likely to remain. Also, beware of grammar errors, as I am not a native English speaker.

Any suggestions, feedback, corrections, opinions and advice that anyone would like to give would be welcomed.

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Gyen Togun was nervous as he trod across the grassland with the rest of his platoon toward the natives' line. One of the few cavalry units the commander had at his disposal was moving just up ahead, covering the vulnerable infantry against the far more numerous, but from what Togun had heard, technologically inferior enemy horse. Behind them and the handgonners were ranks of billmen, ready to fill in any gap that would open up. That said, it was still unnerving seeing how much they were outnumbered, but he had been told to move forward and skirmish, so he did. Togun counted himself fortunate that he was not assigned to the crossbow platoon of his company, whose members were now running for their lives back from their sniping positions, chased by obscene native insults and all kinds of missiles.

To his left, the sharpshooters were already firing with their enormous matchlocks, peppering the enemy centre with heavy shots that felled several men with each hit. At this distance, they were going to miss a lot, but the effect of sustained firing was never to be underestimated. Too bad they would not been able to deliver a lot of shock, but every killed soldier eased his job a little bit. He really needed it, as according to the briefing there were over five thousand angry Ardenians gathering on the open field up ahead, against just over one thousand Vitenese and twice as much that number in native Rymeran allies. Sure, some of the enemy had been left behind to man the siege lines at Sarnach, but the numerical advantage the natives enjoyed was still significant. As they got closer, he could now make out the details on the opposing side's clothing. Many of the opposing horsemen wore plumed helmets that looks like a bucket made out of a block of solid metal, with tiny slits that he guessed provided ventilation and visibility. Encased from head to thigh in shimmering, tubular-looking suit of bronze armour, they made for a daunting sight, even though the footmen were a lot less well equipped.

''They are going to boil under all that armour'' mumbled Manam, one of his squadmates.

The day was an unusually hot one for this land. To be fair, this was nothing compared to his tropical homeland, but the blazing sun coupled with the sight of plumes and banners the Ardenians carried were beginning to take its toll. Togun felt beads of sweat running down his face.

The lancers ahead just stopped. Togun's platoon slid themselves smoothly into the gap between the two blocks of horsemen, and the men of the first rank had already brought their handgonnes up. Togun took a deep breath and began checking his weapon: all three barrels had been loaded and primed, the slow match was in the holder, the piece of wood separating the match from the priming pan was still in place, but could be removed easily if he needed to fire, and the spearhead was in place between the barrels, fitted snugly in the grooves drill into the head of the handle. Luckily the distance between men in the formation was wide enough that there was almost no risk of somebody accidentally stabbing their comrades in the next rank when they fumbled trying to reload.

''Fire!'' cried the captain. A blast rang out, alongside a not at all insignificant cloud of smoke, and the men of the first rank ran back through the gap between files. Two pairs of rockets launched by the support teams in the back shrieked towards the native vanguard, cutting bloody paths through the Ardenian ranks by the sheer power of the projectiles, one of them managed to pierce several men before finally exhausting its momentum. By the time his rank had move to the front of the platoon he could clearly see the devastation wrought by his companions. Dozens of corpses strew across the ground as enemy skirmishers and infantry moving forward to engage the handgonners. Arrows and crossbow bolts flew by, missing most of the men, but the few that met its mark did cause some issues, though at the Vitenese's volley fire range their lethality were heavily reduced. Togun jerked as a bolt whipped by, missing him by only a few centimetres.

''Concentrate!'' The captain shouted, trying to keep the men from wavering. Togun didn't think he had sweated this heavily before. The anxiety was getting to him; he needed to act, and fast.

''Make ready!''

''Present!''

Togun braced his weapon against the right shoulder, left thumb on the match holder, while his right hand held the grip firmly to keep the handgonne steady and on target, and also to prevent himself from shaking too much from fear. He grasped it so tightly in his clutch that the skin on his hands had already begun to turn white, but in the heat of the moment he paid them no heed.

''Fire!''

The handgonner pressed down his thumbs, pushing the match into the flash pan and the weapon lurched backward with an ear-shattering blast. He stepped sideway into the gap, allowing the next man to take his position. Within seconds, the cries of the enemy grew louder as Togun caught a glimpse of something big moving through the thick smoke.

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Even the reserve at the rear could see that something was wrong. The men were agitated, and from her position at the front Lijta of Trettow could hear the terrible dins of battle and see the smoke coming out from whatever infernal weapons the Outsiders were employing against their allies. She should not have doubted the eventual victory of the followers of Solhunn, however if the rumours were true then facing them were no ordinary man but the demons of legends themselves, the Great Enemy who more than a millenia ago had brought untold destruction to the land of Ardenia, leaving only fire and death left in their wake. The thought of facing the spawn of Nija turned her legs into jelly, yet it wasn't fear she felt, but an unrecognizable feeling of oppression that weighed heavily on her chest. Had they truly returned after all these years to exact vengeance on those who had driven their ancestors back behind the Veil?

''Your Reverence!'' a dispatch rider ran up forward and kneeled so fast that he almost tumbled. ''The Lord Baron requests immediate support on the right wing, by the headstones and the copse of trees.'' He stopped for a second to catch his breath then continued ''I'll lead the way.''

''Closed column by company!'' the abbess issued her orders without missing a beat ''Full pace!''

Her feet moved immediately upon hearing the commands, as even the lowliest of novices knew that abbess Rosynde did not take kindly to hesitation or weaknesses. The Luminous Sisterhood detachment of six hundreds quickly formed into formation and marched out toward the beleaguered right wing. Try as she might, the sister still could not shake off the faint trace of doubt lingering at the back of her mind, and the pressure in her chest only grew larger with every step closer to their foes, making it hard to even breath, let alone concentrate. She was not in any way green, having seen heavy action during the Hadrian Wars, yet what was unfolding before their eyes was not an ordinary battle, if there indeed existed such a thing. The accompanying cavalry and footmen apparently shared her uneasiness, but in the harsh gaze of the abbess they wisely kept their voice down.

The noise grew louder, and a scene of terrible carnage welcomed the sisters. Ardenians, both nobles and commoner, lay dead in droves upon the battlefield. Her column quickly formed up into line, but came under attack before they could finish deploying. Groups of enemy infantry threw smoke and fire from their hiding place in the trees just to the right, then just as suddenly a man or woman fell to the ground clutching their bloody wounds. Casualties were especially heavy on the novices; those poor girls had been sent ahead to act as skirmishers and had paid dearly for their bravery as they closed within javelin range, cut down by the dozens as if they had been struck by lightning before being driven back towards the fast-approaching main force. The sisters marched forward toward the enemy in a rock-solid wall of bronze plates, great axes and swords, ignoring their companions falling all around them. The choir began to sing, causing the invisible burden weighing her mind and body down to suddenly vanish. The abbess' banner grew brighter with every verse, filling their surrounding with divine light and the heart of men with great fervour. Even those who had run just a moment before had returned, the reinforcement and the tattered remnants of the right formed up into a huge wedge, ready to plow through all who stood in their way.

Lijta could see the opposing side clearly, being in one of the first few ranks of the wedge. Behind the familiar hillmen of Rymer stood lines upon lines of Outsiders, their long spears hold high to form a menacing hedge of metal points that would make lesser men flinch. Most of them wore a sleeveless coat over their shirt as the only form of body armour, which reached down to their thighs, as well as an open faced helmet, some conical, but most with a domed skull piece and narrow sloping brim; all were black, though she could just make out some strange red symbols painted over them. As exotic as their clothes were, their weapons were much more curious. The thin line of infantry ahead of her carried extremely long spear that must have reached up to twenty feet in length, and the skirmishers, who had caused them so much grief, had a strange contraption that looked like a short spear, but with three tubes attached to the shaft whose every discharge was accompanied by unnatural roars that sounded like thunderclaps.

Was it magic? The men of Nija, for all their mastery over iron, or maybe because of it, had never shown any sign of arcane aptitude, the soul spark that was necessary for such thing simply did not exist within them. Yet many things must have changed in the thousand of years since they had last retreated behind the Veil as, try as she might, Lijta could not recognize a single similar facet between the current Outsiders and the fiends described so thoroughly in the Scriptures of Dawn. If it had not been for their iron armaments she could have sworn they were another race altogether.

But her duty was to fight and obey commands, not questioning the validity of the Scriptures, which would undoubtedly be true in any case, If a thousand years before the ragtag host of the faithful, driven forwards only by their belief, had managed to defeated the Outsiders on the apogee of their power and casted them back to their thrice-cursed homeland in humiliation then a victory in His name today was all but assured. Praying that her novice, Ermelinde of Corver, would survive their ordeal, she lifted up the axe and let out a war cry, feeling a renewed surge of strength and determination coarsing through her body. The skirmishing bands of enemies ahead quickly fell back behind their spearlines in the face of the charge, while to the right and left the opposing horsemen had begun to clash. The entire host of the Luminous Sisterhood glowed with the light of Solhunn's blessing as they rushed forward, eager to avenge their fallen.

 

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''Fire!'' The order echoed in Togun's ears as he sent another bullet downrange into the mass of bodies piling up in front of the pikemen to his right. From their hiding place in the trees he could appreciate the true number of their opponents. The left wing of the Vitenese's had been stretched to the limit trying to contain the numerically superior cavalry of the natives as their enemies tried to outflank their extreme left. What followed had been a long and bloody cavalry battle, but by careful use of reserves and support from mounted pistoleers and handgonners the lancers had managed to barely beaten back the initial attack. The Ardenians, however, had pulled in their reserves from the rear and caught the left wing off guard, and with many units disorganized and out of position the huge wedge simply swept them aside as it continued its rampage, plowing through several isolated groups into the gap which had opened up between the left and the center.

Togun tried to shake off the images of their pitiful remains. Those poor fellows hadn't even had enough time to form a half decent square before they were trampled by tons of metal and horseflesh, and all that had been left behind were a few piles of meat that were barely recognizable as formerly walking, breathing human beings. It was a painful fate that none here wanted to suffer. At least being hit by a cannon ball would be quick, he thought as a group of Ardenians were blown to pieces by an artillery piece, one of the few they had managed to scrounge up before being called to this terrible place.

Fortunately for the whole army, despite the rout of the native allies, most of the pikemen closer to the centre and the cavalry had been able to pull back in time and reorganized into a passable defensive line, covered by the household guards of general Ledao. The unfortunate thing, and this was far more personal, was that Togun and his unit were one of the few groups scattered and left behind as the left wing retreated, too slow and too far to follow the main force. He and his comrades had taken refuge in the trees to avoid the initial cavalry attack and to get to a more favourable shooting position, pouring fire into their flank. That had been a sound idea at first, but it now worked against them as there was no way they could get back to the friendly troops, and ammunition was running out.

''How much do you have left?'' he asked Manam as the man tore open a cartridge with his teeth.

''Six in the bag and two already loaded.'' He replied with a shake of his head. ''We are burning through ammo too fast for our own good. Took a lot of those buggers down, though.''

Their rate of fire had slowed down considerably to conserve ammunition, but soon they would have to cease firing all together. Without ammo they were just inferior spearmen, and that would not do. One of those glowing axemen ahead or a cavalrymen would just chopped through them and move on to the next target. The billmen could deal with those, but taking away ranged support from the handgonners and they would lose a lot of their versatility.

''Incoming enemy infantry! Face the enemy to our left!'' the sudden shout of the captain pulled the two men out of their conversation. The entire units sprung up in a second and quickly moved up to their position. The billmen deployed forwards in an arc, five men deep, with each of their flanks protected by a platoon of twenty handgonners slightly back, the five-man platoon support teams followed closely behind, while the crossbowmen were kept at the rear as reserve in contrast to their usual position far ahead in the skirmish line. Opposing them was a surprisingly large force of native infantry with some cavalrymen advancing towards the treelines in close formation, probably ordered by the one in charge on the other side to uproot the Vitenese from their hiding place. The two flanking units of skirmishers had already sent men forward to engage their foes, kicking up cloud of gun smoke for every shot fired.

Must have reformed a little while ago, Togun mused to himself. The opposition had obviously seen much combat due to their ragged and bloody appearance, yet they did not look like the conscripts and levies send forwards at the beginning of the battle. Marching behind their heavy shields, they maintained disciplined pace even as their comrades dropping right next to them, which spoke highly of their training. These men were not amateurs, but probably the cream and crop of the Ardenian army, if they had one. Togun did not like going up against those fellows, but at least he didn't have to worry about the rear of his formation, with the trees blocking the way to the back, and there weren't enough enemy infantry around to perform a flanking manoeuver. The front was all that mattered now.

The handgonners were firing into the mass of footmen moving up to their formation, dropping men with each volley. With three barrels apiece a formation of handgonners could send a huge number of lead downrange before needing to reload, although it was not as accurate or long ranged as the brand new matchlocks issued to the regulars. And with the issue of ammunition still remained, any skirmishing done would be limited and each squad were only allowed to fire thrice before stopping altogether. At least all the shots that connected resulted in a dead or soon-to-be-dead enemy, which was good enough. But those buggers did have serious gut, and they earned his respect for that; being able to wade into a storm of lead like that was not something you could just get from training.

The shield bearers gradually tighten their formation as they came, causing beads of cold sweat to trickle down his back like an icy river. Togun suddenly found himself unable to breath, his whole body trembling as he worked his way forwards into the firing position.

''Prepare for salvo!''

The three rear ranks of handgonners advanced up to the first, with the first rank kneeling, the second and third rank stooping while echeloning to the left and right, and the fourth standing upright, ready to blow their enemies to kingdom come.

Any moment now…

''Make ready!''

''Present!''

''Fire!''

All four ranks of handgonners discharged their weapons in a devastating salvo of death and destruction, accompanied by the infernal hissing of rockets to furthermore demoralise their foes. Despite the inaccuracy of both weapons, at this close range it was almost impossible to miss. The sudden shock from the volley had noticeable effects on the shield bearers, their formation disrupted, their implacable advance brought to a sudden halt just thirty meters from the tree line.

''Advance! Echelon formation!''

A unit of billmen quickly moved forward to engage the reeling enemies, who quickly broke off even before the two side met. The enemy cavalry split into two and moved to encircle the advancing Vitenese before they could catch up with the retreating infantry, forcing the attackers to stop in turn and form a defence lest they be run over by the marauding horsemen. It was too little too late, however, the billmen had nary a few moments to gather themselves into a rough circle before the riders went over them from all sides, throwing the and trampling those unfortunate fellows under their hooves. The handgonners and the rest of the company, however, were right behind them and quickly rushed into the melee. The few horsemen, numbering just around fifty, were quickly overwhelmed and cut down by spearheads and hooks. Togun saw a man dragged down from his horse by a bill and immediately poke full of holes by a multitude of stabbing implements.

Some of the footmen, however, managed to remain cohesive enough to attempt a charge. Screaming on top of their lung, the natives jumped right into the swirling close combat, bashing and hacking their way through the spearheads towards their surrounded comrades. Togun saw a native warriors lunging towards him through a gap in combat, his unnatural pale face twisted into a snarling visage as he swung his sword. Togun ducked instinctively, narrowly avoided the blow aimed at his neck. He quickly thrust the spearhead on top of his handgonne upward into the shield bearer's face, forcing his opponents to step back and take cover behind shield. Drawing his weapon with his forward hand back a short distance, and with all of his strength Togun brought the heavy triple barrels hard on the Ardenian's shield, causing the native to lose his footing and topple backward. Seeing this, one of his fellow soldiers who had just moments before dispatched his own opponent quickly drove the butt spike of his weapon onto the face of the fallen man before he could do anything to parry the blow, ending his life with a sickening crunch.

Taking a moment to observe the carnage around him, the handgonner saw that the fight was over. The enemy had been broken, and all those who had decided to stay behind and stand their ground had been killed to a man. Shaking uncontrollably, Togun found that the thrill of the fight had already been wearing off of him and simply standing was now becoming too hard, forcing him to use his weapon as a crutch. As he continued examining the carpet of dead bodies now lying on the ground where he stood, the handgonner caught sight of something shiny coming from one of the corpses by his feet. Staring in disbelief at his good fortune as he tore the golden rings from the dead man's fingers and quickly pocketed the ornaments before anyone could see, he turned toward the captain as the man was shouting for the survivors to regroup and marched back to support the beleaguered comrades. Now at least something good had come out of this war for him personally, he just hoped that he could survive long enough to make use of his newly acquired wealth.

 

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Red dashed line: Border.

White line: Road.

V: Vitenese colony's capital: Haitran.

S1 &2: Scourge (Mahuizalcah) invasion routes (For the future).

Spoiler: Notable Ardenian towns and cities

A: Ardenian capital: Solhenburg

A1: Grishaufen

A2: Forterois

A3: Treuwar

A4: Valensthal

A5: Altmarche

A6: Marzawia

A7: Wrota

A8: Tamierz

A9: Halsberg

A10: Krappagardo

Spoiler: Notable Rymeran towns and cities

R: Rymeran capital: Trejai

R1: Sarnach

R2: Spigelisa

R3: Karkas

R4: Marriaustjam

R5: Witwarris

R6: Prasarg

Spoiler: Notable Kalmeri & Wendgarder towns and cities

K: Kalmeri capital: Vartai

K1: Traken

K2: Kailisios

K3: Svyklas

W: Wendgarder capital: Suedros

W1: Dygai

W2: Kalnage

W3: Vandenskolona

 

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Nice to see this is still alive.

Click to shrink...

Yeah I think it will be prudent to have a mirror somewhere else rather than on just a forum.​

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How many of the bastards are actually out there?

Ulma Thang had tried his best in this battle, but it clearly wasn't enough. They had said that the war would bring glory and riches, but he had only found several near death situations fighting against the natives. He could have easily gotten an administrative position in a comfortable, and more importantly safe place, being of noble blood, but instead he had chosen this accursed land beyond the sea. Trying ineffectually to wipe away the dirt and blood on his breastplate, he could only curse his naivety as he again saw the remaining Ardenian cavalry lining up for another charge. Those buggers had an unbelievable tolerance for punishment, but again, he supposed, so were he and his comrades. The opposing ranks of horsemen had been thinned out considerably, but the pistoleers had been fighting for their lives since the very opening moves, and he himself had been unhorsed twice already. They were at their breaking point.

As soon as they heard a trumpet call, Thang and his comrades rapidly formed into a block ten men wide and five deep, a testament to their training. A normal formation of mounted pistoleers would have twice the number of ranks, but between the casualties and the wide flank that needed protecting, they used what they could. A small detachment of accompanying lancers deployed behind in a more traditional manner, wide and shallow, ready to cut down anyone who might got through the pistoleers. There weren't as many enemy horses as there had used to be, and the animals were unfamiliar with gunfire; with luck the Vitenese could weather the oncoming storm and rout them.

Just one more time…

''Forward! March!''

The Vitenese responded to the sighting of their enemies by advancing slowly forward. Despite being dead tired and just wanted to stand in place and shoot down the attackers with his pistols, he knew that was simply out of the question. It was common knowledge that the best defense cavalry had against mounted enemies charging at them was to charge themselves. You should never let yourself be caught stationary, as then you would almost certainly lose the contest of will and defeat was inevitable. Besides, the gallop was a move which relieved anxiety, which he sorely needed right now. The Ardenian lancers were already cantering along with shouts, hurrahs and probably insults in a language he could not understand, and soon broke into a breakneck gallop. The pistoleers, however, were still advancing in a slow and steady pace, and had just begun to speed up. The enemy would be exhausted by the time they made contact, if they made it at all.

The movement of something ahead caught his attention. A group of men had just suddenly emerged from the trees to his left, at the rear of the enemy cavalry, which was the best place they could be at this very moment. He knew he should concentrate more on riding and staying in the saddle, but the sudden sight of a friendly Vitenese banner filled his heart with joy. Maybe there was hope in this hell, after all.

Sure enough, the too-early gallop had begun to take its toll upon the opposing line. The ordered ranks at the beginning had turned into a noisy horde; gaps were created, horses in the center were squeezed out, slower horses and the cowards were far behind while the few brave ones ahead. Their mounts were foaming at the mouth, visibly exhausted.

They are quite spirited, alright. But that means nothing against a disciplined opponent.

''Cut them down!''

With a mighty cry, the block of horsemen launched themselves into a frenzied charge. The disordered Ardenian lancers stood no chance. There were a several trying to countercharge, but the front ranks of the Vitenese horse quickly raised their weapons and sent a hail of lead downrange then charged home with swords, ending the counterattack before it even began to take form. The mass of lancers fled in a jumbled mess, but their tired horses could only take them so far. Those few who escaped the wrath of the victorious pistoleers were overtaken by the fast-approaching Vitenese infantry, being dragged off their horses and skewered or blasted to bits point-blank. With their cavalry gone, the right flank of the natives was wide open. The battle had reached its turning point.

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Lijta yelled the Sisterhood's battle cry when she again threw herself into the struggle. The long spears and the tube weapons had taken a terrible toll on the sisters. Their bodies piled up across the field, alongside perhaps a fifth of the Ardenian army, but they were beginning to make gain, ploughing through the screening ranks of Rymeran barbarians. Even in the struggle against the Outsider infantry opening had been created, and whenever a sister managed to forced her way into the spears she would usually triumph.

As she had just managed to get through the spearhead, a man quickly dropped his long weapon and charge at her with a curved blade. In the tight confine of the enemy formation there was no space to swing her weapon, but there were more than one way to use an axe. Lijta whirled the axe in a curved motion, parrying the blow with the handle and momentarily unbalanced her attackers. Seeing an opening, she quickly drove the horn of the great axe into his unarmoured throat, ending her opponent's life in a shower of alien red blood.

Another attacker came at her, this one noticeably better equipped than the spearman. Because of her companions to the left and right and the enclosed space they could only attack one at a time, but even alone he seemed pretty formidable. Seeking to end the duel immediately, Lijta raised the axe above her head then delivered a massive downward blow at his face but the man simply hit the axe head on its side with his shield and pushed his sword toward the joint of her armour. The warrior nun had prepared for this, however. Lowering her posture and thrust at his now unprotected stomach with the butt spike of the axe, she easily sent him reeling backward before striking a downward blow with her axe head, crushing his helmet.

Trumpets and drums blaring from the back signalled the attacking sisters to pull back. Whacking the few spearheads pointing at her as she and her companions retreated back into the safety of friendly formations to rest and regroup while the novices, crossbowmen and archers pushed forward to soften up the foes with missiles for the final glorious attack. A feeling of elation washed over Lijta when she saw the Outsider's tattered line, their troops struggled in vain to fill the now too many gaps in their formations. The anticipation of an imminent glorious victory spearheaded by the Sisterhood at the helm was so great that she couldn't help but grinning under the cover of her helmet. They would become the second vanquishers of the spawn of Nija, standing forever next to the First Faithful who themselves had crushed this terrible enemy in their lair more than a thousand years ago. She wondered, what had those heroes felt at that moment, knowing that they had been the saviours of Ardenians from these most monstrous of adversaries?

Yet her thought was abruptly cut short by the sounds of gruesome screams coming from all around. Men from the outer fringes of the force were clambering over each other and the dead, desperately to get into the relative safety of the centre, throwing the entire formation into chaos. Panic surged through Lijta as realization suddenly dawned on her that they were being surrounded. Somehow the Outsiders had managed to defeat their flanking cavalry and were now pushing in from all sides. She saw enemy horsemen running roughshod over the crumbling Ardenian left, killing with impunity, either through lances, swords, the strange tubes they carried that spew fire and smoke, or simply by using their horse as a battering ram, knocking men over and trampling them to paste. Trying desperately not to be swept away by the confusion, the sisters gathered whoever they could and formed a square around the abbess' banner, determined to fight to the bitter end.

As she was running, the novice next to her stumbled over a corpse and tripped. Shouting frantically for the girl to get on her feet, she in turn bumped into a running soldier and almost fell. A sudden, thunderous sound deafened her. The Outsiders had just turned their deadly weapons on the fleeing men, cutting down dozen of them in one fell swoop. Dusty air flooded her lungs and hot blood from the slain splattered onto her armour as she felt something hot whizzing through the air, hitting a retreating infantryman in the back.

''Sister, are you hurt?'' the girl, Avinin of Krêne, if her memory served her right, had managed to catch up with her, panting and sweating uncontrollably. Outside of a small wound on her leg that didn't seem to affect her movement much, the girl appeared unhurt.

''I am fine!'' she shouted back, her voice barely audible over the scream of men and roar of weapons. ''Keep running! Don't look back, I am right beside you!''

They started moving again, with the sister using her body and armour as shield to protect the more vulnerable novice. Ermelinde had disappeared without a trace midway through battle, but Lijta could hardly blame the girl for that; she would have better chances at survival than most of her comrades by doing so. It was however not so simple for the rest of the order, the oath they took after becoming a fully-fledged robe-bearer prevented them from turning their back on the enemy, regardless of the circumstance. Years after years of fighting desperate rear-guard actions and last stands had cultivated a sense of pride and a casual disregard for death in the ranks of the Sisterhood. They had born every trial proudly and bravely on their back without a single step back, and she would not be the one breaking that tradition. Not today.

Ranks of horsemen emerged from the unnatural fog that had descended upon parts of the battlefield, cutting down stragglers too slow to get to the square of the sisters. The cavalry circled around, and with fire and smoke they gradually thinned out the outer ranks before breaking off and repeating the manoeuver over and over. The remaining novices tried their best to respond to the onslaught, but they were sorely outmatched. At least they did not die too quickly; at this rate they could hold out until reinforcement could arri-

A deafening sound was all she could hear as her neighbours were flung around like leaves in the wind. Something terrible had torn large holes in their formation, felling dozen where they hit. Weapons were shattered and soldiers dropped dead like they had been speared. Within seconds enemy horsemen were upon them, charging through the breaches wielding swords and lances under the cover of the brutal attack. The sisters tried to put up some resistance, but it was clear now that with their formation broken, they were a little more than preys to be run down by the rampaging riders.

No! She screamed helplessly as her comrades were struck down en masse before her very eyes. As she dragged the poor novice away from the path of a cavalryman, saving her by a hair's breadth, Lijta realized that all was lost. There would be no second repeat of the subjugation of Nija in this place, no great celebration, no deeds worthy of immortalization in songs and scriptures, for they were the vanquished today. The combined attack from the thunderous weapons and cavalry was too much to handle: the once proud square was now broken with its guts spilled out, the occupants who just a moment before had been so ready to sell their lives dearly now easily run down to the ground like helpless children. Yet all of them, whether wounded or disarmed, fought on to the death. But valour could only do so much against the momentum and mass of a horse.

''Flee now while you still can!'' Lijta half screamed at the novice, trying to shake her out of her fear. ''The oath prevents me from running away, but you haven't taken it! Live to fight another day, avenge the fallen! Go!''

Avinin nodded briskly and quickly disappearing into the influx of routers streaming back toward the centre. Again, she supposed, the girl's chance of surviving was small, but still better than staying back and face the victorious army. The more time she could delay the enemy, the more chances the shattered men had to escape the following massacre, even if it was just a few seconds.

''My lord…'' Lijta whispered, and brought up her axe. The faint sight of men advancing through the thick smoke was the last thing she saw before a murderously powerful punch hammered her in the stomach and everything turned black.

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The gathering dusk had finally brought the slaughter to a halt. The battle of Sarnach was over, the siege had been lifted, and the Vitenese and Rymerans held the field – there were no more Ardenian left to oppose them; they were either dead, wounded, captured or in rout. Even the small force manning the siege line had packed up and left upon hearing the news of the defeat, harassed all the way by the native garrison. Hundreds of bodies from both sides sprawled and piled together in heaps on the battlefield, shadowed by flocks of hungry carrions ready for a feast.

''The sight of a defeated army is always a sorrowful one, don't you agree? ''

Togun looked up and saw a bloody pistoleer on a tired horse. Outside of his ragged appearance he seems unharmed.

''Yes, young master,'' Togun bowed his head towards the horseman. Although the rider hadn't shown or told his own status, being a pistoleer usually meant you were a noble, and Togun wouldn't want to be disciplined for not properly honouring a person of higher standing. ''But with all due respect, sir, why are you here ? Don't you think this place is a bit too…vulgar?'' He asked, all the while glancing at his comrades stripping a dead body of its belongings just dozen meters to the right.

''There is no need to. We are all soldiers, and a battlefield is a proper enough place,'' the noble laughed. Togun could see no mockery in his voice, only amusement ''I just want to personally thank you for your actions in the battle. You did us, and this whole army, a great service when you attacked the native right wing from behind. '' He paused for an instant, then continued. ''I will make sure you and the rest of your unit get your proper reward.''

''We are very grateful for this favour, young master.'' He replied, and the horseman nodded, then rode back into the camp. When he lost sight of the rider, Togun quickly returned to his work of stripping the dead of their valuables, like what the rest of the regiment were doing. He had gained a fair bit of wealth already, but more gold and gems didn't hurt anybody. He kneeled next to a corpse, one of those axemen that had caused them so much grief, turning it over and removing the helmet. What was under it wasn't something disgusting, but it nevertheless caught him totally by surprise.

It was a woman, a young and fairly attractive one at that, if one ignored the cold pallor characteristic of the people from the Farther East. The armour had concealed her features, making her almost indistinguishable from the men surrounding her. And she was still alive. There were two splashes of lead on her bronze cuirass, which he guessed came from some stray bullets. She probably had several broken ribs right now, but surviving two shots to the torso was more than most people could ask for. After returning her helmet to its position and making sure she was truly unconscious, he bent down, wrapped his arms around the wounded woman and helped her to her feet. The general would no doubt appreciate a living prisoner who could reveal to him the secret of their otherworldly power.