CHAPTER 258: HEIGHT OF BATTLE

Height of Battle

The Rioters' Northern Side

Amid the chaos of shifting battle lines filled with cries, angry shouts, and frantic chants, a group of men rushed in from the rear to where the robed youth watched the fighting between columns, guarded by his newly formed retinue. With shields, they kept him safe despite the hail of bolts constantly seeking his life. They had dragged him to a safer distance, far enough to avoid the worst of the danger but close enough for him to stand tall as a beacon of hope to the other rioters and deliver his rousing speeches.

"Cleric!" the newly arrived group called, interrupting his speech.

The robed youth turned, gladdened to find friendly faces. "I'm merely a cleric candidate," he corrected them.

"Candidate," they repeated, shortening the title as they reported, "Our Believers’ column is hitting the Black Demon’s line hard, and now they are retreating."

The candidate’s eyes widened, sweat streaming from his soaked hair beneath an oversized helmet. His voice was colored by honest jubilation. “Retreating, you say?”

"Indeed, they have taken steps back. Meanwhile, our column of believers keeps driving them back relentlessly, even against the fire attack. Saint Nay has truly blessed them," the man replied, fervor burning in his eyes as if he had witnessed a miracle.

"Blessed be the Living Saint," the robed youth intoned, tracing a sign of faith across his chest.

"There's more, Candidate," another man added, not to be outdone. "Far to the south, our three columns have succeeded in their maneuver. They are now pushing toward the Black Demon’s unguarded flank."

The robed youth was taken aback. Even someone unfamiliar with war could sense that such a move could break an army. "Then?" he asked, hopeful.

The two men from the group exchanged glances. Their faces could not hide their excitement as the second man replied, "The Black Demon's army is as good as finished."

"That he didn’t run is a blessing," the second continued. "We’ll capture him and march him, tied to a pole on the back of a cart, to the monastery for all to see."

The candidate chuckled at first, then broke into laughter, unable to contain himself. His laughter drew the attention of the columns as they moved toward the front. Weary faces turned toward him with anticipation. His presence seemed to bring hope once again, a sharp contrast to the oppressive dread of battle and the harsh beam of the Lord's light glaring down on them.

"Marvelous news, marvelous," the candidate exclaimed after regaining his composure. He felt certain they had broken the Black Demon's magic. Even the bright white light no longer seemed threatening. It was just a trick or an item, and its owner nothing more than a mortal.

He paused to draw breath, then raised his voice above the noise of the field. "Gentlemen of the faith," he called out, "I bring you glad tidings! We no longer need to wait. A glorious victory is already upon us. Our brethren on the far right are pressing hard, and the Black Demon’s flank is retreating!"

At the news, the column around him, still waiting for their turn at the front, erupted in a primal, animalistic roar. The field shook with howls and cries as a surge of powerful jubilation swept through the ranks.

"Our three columns are tearing into the Black Demon army's flanks and rear. We are triumphant!" the candidate added with matching exultation.

Men shouted and embraced, some falling to their knees, others weeping openly, their relief and joy raw after so much terror. Shoulders relaxed as the weight of fear finally lifted. Every man now believed victory was within reach. They only had to hold out a little longer, and the battle would be theirs. For many, this would be the crowning moment of their lives, a story to boast about for years to come, something to pass down to their great-grandchildren.

More importantly, the Living Saint and the monastery would surely welcome them as the blessed army. And their families would certainly be saved from their maladies.

However, the surge of triumph from the good news did not reach the ranks of men fighting against the Lord's right wing. There, where the fighting was thickest, there was only blood and death, along with rage-filled shouting and pained screams. With each push and exchange of blows, the wounded and dead kept piling up.

The white-haired leader had ordered another column of rioters to the front, and for a while, they managed to blunt the advance of the Lord's men. But it did not last. Slowly, the Lord's men regained momentum, and the vast gap in skill and equipment soon became impossible to overcome.

Even when they weren't at the front, salvos of bolts could come at any moment, slicing through the air with a sharp hiss to wound the careless or the unlucky with poor armor. But armored men had it even worse; they were targeted specifically by arbalests and windlasses, whose heavy bolts could pierce anything except the best plate armor. Even at a distance, those bolts could knock down men clad in hardened iron.

Despite all the carnage, the Lord's men seemed unfazed and only clamored for more, frightening the rioters to the bone. Jeers and mockery rang out from the enemy, as hard and unforgiving as their swords and pikes.

"Come, traitors! In the name of the Ancients, I'll kill you all!"

"Bring me the moron who killed the race duck!"

"Where's the Living Saint? Haven't I killed enough of her men? Why is she still hiding?"

Fifty more had died in their leftmost column, trampled beneath the Lord's men who pressed deep into the line, even when facing the rioters' very best. The white-haired leader was losing men left and right. Hired swords or rioters, it made no difference to the Lord's slaughterhouse.

The remaining hired swords inside the column were now panicking as they were cut down. They faced nothing less than a column of men-at-arms in full plate, each one equal to a knight.

Normally, the hired swords would have fled. No column of mercenaries would stay in the fight after taking a third in casualties. The only thing stopping them now was the press of columns behind and beside them, trapping them in place. It was a disaster born of fielding an untrained mob in such numbers. Even when the rioters complied, their assigned officers were mostly incompetent and inexperienced.

While the center column could still afford to reorganize, their left was doomed and without respite.

Captain, we must pull back," urged the oldest son of an esquire, who served as his officer. His ringmail rattled as the press of bodies surged around him.

"We've lost too many," another officer added quickly, shielding his head from possible crossbow attack.

"Stop giving me unsolicited advice and find a way to get reinforcements to the front," the white-haired leader snapped. He stood just a few ranks behind the carnage, sword in hand, driving his men not to give up as screams and chaos erupted all around.

Another officer forced his way through the packed ranks and reported, "We have managed to get the column on our left to flank the enemy."

"Good. It took them long enough. Far too long," he grumbled, turning to the far left and seeing a mass of movement.

The maneuver would seal his fighters from escaping, but if they managed to attack the Lord's flank, the entire line would be relieved. It was a worthwhile sacrifice if it forced the Lord's men to scramble to protect their exposed side, giving them time to bring more men from the rear.

But it was easier to plan than to make it happen.

He was valiant and stubborn, which was why the rioters had given him command of the rear guard, but the white-haired leader had never commanded such a large army before. And like him, his staff and officers, a mix of hired men and sons of esquires, were incapable and inexperienced.

Thus, while the idea was simple, to bring more columns into the Lord's line, it was not easy to do with untrained men and officers.

Maneuvering them required coordination that only came from experience, something they did not have. As a result, their column almost always got bogged down, unable to move, stuck in a jam. The rear wanted to advance, but the front was still trapped and unable to push forward. Forcing it risked a deadly crush between columns.

Ironically, the Lord's bright white light was helping them, solving the problem of fighting at night. Yet the tradeoff was murderous bolts threatening everyone’s life.

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"Captain—" one his officers called again.

"What is it now?" he shouted back.

"Look!" the officer barked. "Horsemen!"

Only then did he and the rest of his men realize the thunder of hooves that had been masked by the cries of battle. The laughter of the Lord’s men seemed to confirm that the worst was about to fall upon the rioters' columns.

***

Lansius

The night wind brought a chill to the summer air, blowing in Lansius' face as he watched his officers, remaining riders, guards, volunteers, and even the wounded who could still wield a weapon gather around him. Even as they deliberated, the noise of rattling armor, shouting, and movement rose from their own column, swelling as men prepared for the enemy’s advance.

His captain and lieutenant stood at the ready, greeting him first with, "My Lord," and then to Daniella, "Dame."

"There’s no time for a proper battle plan, so listen up," Lansius said, leaving no room for argument. "As long as we have even a token force of riders, we can block these new columns from reaching our rear. Dame Daniella will lead the light riders to shadow the enemy’s movements and harass them if needed. They'll carry torches and lanterns to make their numbers appear larger."

"Understood, My Lord," Daniella replied, accepting the order.

"Will it be enough to deter them?" a lieutenant muttered.

"No column of a hundred or two will dare march with their flank exposed to a force of cavalry," the more experienced captain answered.

With no further objections, Lansius continued, "Now, the most crucial issue is to wheel this column so it faces south, forming a new line from west to east. I trust in your training. Our men should manage this, even amid battle."

His officers exchanged glances.

The captain responded first, "We can do it. Our left wing has fallen back further, and the enemy column is slow to reengage."

"But do we have enough time?" the lieutenant asked, worry in his voice.

A veteran group leader spoke. "The column that fought us seems to have lost interest in the fight. I saw stragglers coming out of their formations."

"Then we had better hurry," the captain urged, and they rushed off to relay the orders.

Soon, shouting and trumpets blared as the column began to reorganize, turning to face the new threat.

As the new defensive line formed up, his guard spoke. "My Lord, three columns on our flank are considerable threats. What is your plan if they break through our line?"

"Do not worry. Do your duty," Lansius told them. "This is a battlefield. The worst may happen, but as it might happen to us, so too might it happen to our enemies. Right now, Sterling and our heavy cavalry are moving against their left wing. I have watched since the beginning and noticed that is where they invested the most. I have seen many reinforcements sent there, along with their preacher."

While the four guards and their assistants appeared calm, the other guards exchanged concerned glances.

Lansius continued, "Their left wing is their weak point. If it collapses, their entire formation will fall. It would be like striking pottery with a stick."

His close guards had nothing to say but nodded calmly.

Yet a guard from another group spoke up. "My Lord, as much as we trust your leadership, we are outnumbered by a ridiculous number of columns. I know we have won great battles tonight, but perhaps it would be wise to consider the worst."

"Fear not," Lansius replied with as much confidence as he could muster. "If they cannot manage themselves properly, then they are just numbers. That will even work against them. Like goats, if the shepherd is unskilled, the flock will take hours to gather and move. The same will happen to the enemy's columns. Otherwise, what is the point of all our field training in spring and summer?"

The rest of the guards still harbored some doubt, but they nodded, unable to argue further.

Lansius approached the second group leader and patted his shoulder. "Take your place on the eastern flank of the new line. They will need your staunch leadership."

"But, My Lord, we are supposed to protect you."

"I'll be fine. My troops are with me." Lansius turned his gaze toward the three approaching columns. "Show these traitors why I chose you as guards."

Hearing this, the second guard group straightened, a grim resolve settling over them, and marched to the designated area beside the light cavalry.

No sooner had they left than the nearest guard warned, "My Lord, the enemy column is heading this way."

Lansius began his own preparations. One of his guards handed him an X-bow, prompting Lansius to remark, "Bolts? You seem confident the approaching columns aren't fanatics?"

The tall guard who rarely left his side replied, "It's a bit shadowy from here, but I can see their pace and the way they move. They're nothing like those ghouls."

"Good observation," Lansius praised. "Let's hope you're right."

He checked the lever-action crossbow, its lightweight, resin-impregnated linen bolt case mounted on top, feeding bolts through a simple spring mechanism.

"We can still wield a sword," came a rough voice from behind, followed by the shuffling of feet and the clinking of armor.

Lansius lowered his X-Bow and turned to see a lieutenant facing a crowd of injured men. "What is it?" he asked.

His guard motioned for the lieutenant in charge to approach. The man obeyed and reported, "My Lord, they wish to join us. But they're wounded."

"It's just a scratch. We can still draw our blades," one of the wounded veterans insisted, and the rest clamored in support.

Lansius saw that their wounds were bandaged and mostly not life-threatening. He turned to the lieutenant. "That's fine. They can group behind me," he said, and the lieutenant let out a sigh of relief.

The veterans grinned despite their injuries and gathered closer.

"Now, find a long torch and gather behind me," Lansius instructed.

"My Lord, are you going to use us as scarecrows?" one of them asked, sounding downhearted.

"No, I have something better in mind. Trust me, you'll see soon enough."

Their eyes lit up, and they began searching for long torches.

At the same time, the captain shouted along the newly formed line, "Ten steps back! Commence, now!"

A short trumpet call sounded. They needed to connect their line with the nearest column to protect their flank.

Lansius moved to join the line in the middle, helping to extend it just a bit. The faces of his men around him were all smiles. Nothing gave them more confidence than seeing their leader stand among their ranks.

The guard in front readied his spear and asked, "Aren't you going to use the slingers, My Lord?"

"No, I'm keeping their precious Burning Dust for now. Also, remember that I have made some preparations. We're not completely exposed."

The sound of hooves striking the earth and the harsh breathing of the beasts signaled the approach of a group of horses. Daniella and two riders appeared, riding in front of the bristling new line of spears. She found Lansius quickly.

"My Lord, the riders await your command," Daniella called as she reined her horse around.

"Half your riders are nomads. When the cornu sounds, harass them with bows, but do not move toward them."

"Understood," Dame Daniella answered without hesitation, then spurred her horse and rode back to her cavalry. Her graceful visage, strong yet delicate, and her long, beautiful hair enchanted many, especially the still-single officers.

Lansius couldn’t help but feel a sense of dejavu watching her go. Audrey had done the same thing a long time ago.

"She’ll make a good consort," one of the guards remarked, prompting the others to grin, and the youngest to chuckle.

"Oh, quiet. I don’t intend to keep a harem," Lansius objected at the sudden proposal.

"But you’re from the Eastern Kingdom, My Lord," a veteran man-at-arms to his right commented. "Surely it’s not against your tradition."

"A Nicopolan wife is good for the future," one of the Nicopolans in his ranks quipped, and the rest perked up, most of them murmuring their agreement.

"After that, a Midlandian," another blurted out, stirring the others even more.

"We’re certainly not against it," one shouted as the crowd grew loud.

"Don't forget Lady Hannei— I mean Lady Valerie. I don’t want to see her left in loneliness," someone else called out, and the crowd turned rowdy.

"I can't believe it," Lansius managed to say over the uproar. "We're about to face a bloody battle, and you still dare to play matchmaker, arranging more marriages. You remember the last time I tried that; the Lady nearly refused me," he finished with a lighthearted quip.

His men burst into coarse laughter and exchanged a myriad of reactions. "Second time's a charm, My Lord," one insisted.

"We'll be there to support you. They won't say no," his captain even joined in.

"Unbelievable," Lansius replied, amused. "I'm glad you're all so spirited tonight. Perhaps some bloodshed will work wonders to curb your godless enthusiasms."

They all cackled, some booing him for dismissing their idea.

Lansius noticed the officers were quieter and did not join in as much. He suspected many of them still hoped to win the favor of the two beauties themselves. He pitied them, for both women were equally dangerous, though not nearly as dangerous as Audrey.

"Heads up. I see small groups moving," the man on lookout warned.

"Enemy scouts?" one remarked, and the men raised their crossbows.

"Hold, don't attack! We're friendlies," someone shouted from the shadows.

"Hold," Lansius called out, raising his voice. "They're ours."

"Ours, My Lord?" the captain asked.

"Yes. Early on, I sent some of the young ones, along with the carpenters and a few volunteers, to set something up on our exposed flank," Lansius explained. He had even allowed his young aide to borrow his personal gemstone of light.

"A trap?" the veteran next to him exclaimed in surprise, prompting another to comment, "No wonder these flanking columns are moving so slowly."

"It won't stop them, but they should face some difficulties," Lansius said, turning to his signaler at the rear. "It's time. Sound the cornu."

***

Big Ben

The large lupine figure strained himself, running breathlessly with stamina he never knew he had. He ran free, having abandoned his heavy and expensive ringmail. The cold wind and the stars overhead no longer brought him the same sense of joy or comfort as saliva streamed from his heavy jaws. His muscles burned and ached with every stride on all fours, but he pushed on, driven by an innate loyalty and a desire to protect his tribe, which now included the Matriarch and the Lord of the House.

On his broad shoulder, Reginald clung tightly, his hands gripping fur with white-knuckled desperation. There was no banter or complaint, only the silent urgency that passed between them.

The two of them had witnessed a terrifying development and now rushed to find the Lord, hoping to deliver their warning before disaster struck. But even with the half-breed’s eyes, sharp enough to pierce the veil of darkness, the distant battlefield was a blur of shadow and movement. Sounds of distant steel, panicked shouting, and the heavy stink of blood hung in the air, making the search all the harder.

Finally, he found a steep mound. With a leap, he scrambled up and stopped, chest heaving and muscles burning from the run.

"Regi," he called out, fighting the urge to vomit. "I see so many men fighting. There are lines, men fighting everywhere. Where do you think the Lord is?"

"C-can't you find the banner?" came the hoarse reply, Reginald likewise struggling to keep the water in his belly.

"Hard to see," he replied, gulping down the cold night air, the taste of iron and smoke lingering on his tongue.

"The ones moving into the arena?" Reginald tried again.

Big Ben squinted, but even for a tribal-trained warrior like him, the scene was too confusing. "They’re both outside and fighting. I also saw lots of fires."

"The Lord should be with the smaller force, and," Reginald suddenly exclaimed, "he should be the one with cavalry."

Big Ben's maw formed a smile. "Got that," he said, drawing in a last breath to steady himself. He leapt down the mound and, with a powerful, beastly stride, charged across the dried late summer grass.

***