A Warrior's Redemption

by Guy S. Stanton III

  *****

  Nadalarkin glanced up at me and nodded, as if words couldn’t provide an adequate description for what we had just seen and I tended to agree with him. I saw Captain Jansa in the press of men making their way to the mound top.

  “I see you managed to come through after all, Captain. Thank you for coming! I only hope it’s to something more positive than our deaths at their hands,” I gestured to the approaching enemy that had temporarily halted their advance to just outside arrow range.

  There appeared to be confusion among the massed ranks of enemy soldiers as to why they were suddenly so many of us before them, when they had thought us almost beaten and few in number.

  Captain Jansa looked up to me, “Whether we live or we die, we’re here to fight, even if it be to the last one of us in a glorious defeat! We fight by our friend’s side for the freedom of our two peoples!”

  “Perhaps not to the death after all, Captain Jansa. Look!” I exclaimed, pointing.

  To the south, behind the enemy army on the plain, rose a large dust cloud that grew larger and larger. General Nadero had made it!

  The enemy had also noticed the cloud of dust, but not as soon as they should have as their focus had been entirely directed upon us and our resurgent numbers. The cloud of dust grew no closer, but rose to hang in the air. Slowly, out of the dissipating dust, the ranks of marching men materialized, even as a long unbroken stream of cavalry cut off to the side in the direction of the western shore.

  General Nadero intended to cut the enemy off from any support by their fleet, which was gathering offshore. The militia stood in the way of any retreat back to the enemy's homeland in the south.

  My eyes drifted to the northeast to see that General Santaran’s army had materialized from hiding and was quickly approaching the battle. He had his ten thousand strong cavalry contingent aligned along his left flank, probably to offer quick support to the militia brigades should they have need of it.

  The field of battle was set and the trap sprung with the enemy caught in the middle. Now all that remained was to see if the Attorgron slave warriors were convinced enough to join in with us, if not it would be them that General Santaran’s warriors encountered first, as the Attorgrons were aligned along the left side of the enemy's formation before us at the Shrine.

  There was a flurry of action within the enemy ranks and it soon became clear that taking the Shrine had fallen to the bottom of the list of priorities. The Zoarinians had never overly favored the use of cavalry in their military strategy, rather the use of heavy infantry instead. They had but forty thousand of their own cavalry, most of which were lancers.

  Lancers were good for charges on ground units, but not so good in the pressed confines of a melee fight with other cavalry. All of the Zoarinian cavalry sheeted off to form a long line facing General Nadero’s cavalry that had drawn up in the sands of the western shore and was now busy forming their own line.

  I called down to Nadalarkin, who looked up at my call, “Bring the horses up from the beach and mount the remainder of our men on them. When the battle is joined, we will ride towards the western shore and attack the enemy cavalry from the rear after they’ve engaged with General Nadero’s cavalry.”

  “Yes Roric!” Nadalarkin said quickly, making his way off the mound and calling out to the Valley Lander warriors to join him.

  A group of sea captains had formed around me and I turned to them now, “When the battle is joined, and only after it has been joined, take your men and attack the enemy’s flank. Do not attack too early, as it is unclear yet whether the Attorgrons are friend or foe!”

  They saluted as one and I left them with, “Godspeed my friends!” before I made my way towards the western side of the fortification line, watching the field of battle take shape as I did so.

  The militia was moving up quickly from the south and General Santaran’s more rested warriors were moving even more quickly towards the front lines of the Attorgrons, while his cavalry had drawn into a support position for the militia. General Nadero seemed content to let the enemy make the first move and sat waiting with his cavalry aligned along the beach at almost equal numbers with the opposing cavalry force that was arrayed against him.

  From the enemy’s shift of ground troops, it became quickly clear that they were primarily concerned with the elimination of the militia to the south, which cut off their escape to their homeland. It was also the softest target and the most likely to be overcome quickly. If they broke the militia, they would probably then sweep around the back of General Santaran’s forces, which was why he had probably sent his cavalry to bolster the militia’s line. A wise move on his part, but would it be enough? I doubted it.

  Everything hinged on the Attorgrons and what they would do. They had separated away from the main body of the army, slightly towards General Santaran, and appeared to be setting up a defensive line, while the bulk of the Zoarinian army was shifting to attack the militia at the rear.

  Then it happened. I thanked the Creator fervently, as I watched the slave warrior’s change of heart unfold. The Attorgron archers abruptly slipped through the formed shield wall of their spearmen, towards General Santaran, even as the wings of the shield wall of spearmen broke off and charged into the massed ranks of regular army cavalry that were split into two equal flanking groups of twenty five thousand, each on either side of the long spear wall.

  The Attorgron cavalry were in a state of complete consternation, as they were speared off their horses by their own slave warriors. In the close confines, and with the element of surprise firmly on their side, the spearmen carved their way into the cavalry contingents to either side of them with relative ease, setting off complete chaos as they did so.

  The central core of the spear wall did an abrupt about face and locked their shields together, even as a massive short ranged volley of arrows shot out over their heads into the congested mass of the Zoarinian army. The Zoarinians were thrown into complete turmoil at the unexpectedness of the attack of arrows that dropped thousands of unsuspecting soldiers.

  The betrayal of the Attorgrons abruptly changed the course of the battle, as the Zoarinians were forced to change their focus away from the militia to the traitors in their midst. They attacked the spear wall en mass with little formation or order involved in the attack.

  General Nadero’s cavalry started out in a brisk trot towards the enemy, intent on taking advantage of the turmoil present in their disorganized ranks. Their movement forward sparked a reaction from the enemy cavalry which took off at an uneven start towards the approaching cavalry.

  General Santaran’s warriors ran through the ranks of Attorgron archers to strengthen the hard-pressed forward shield wall of the Attorgron slave warriors. On the flanks of the formation they swept through the remaining Attorgron cavalry, finishing what the spearmen had begun.

  The fighting was close and intense as the Zoarinian soldiers realized that the odds were no longer on their side. The approaching militia had seemingly been forgotten in the chaos and they now swept towards the enemy’s southern flank uncontested, even as the Tranquil Islanders, with a wild yell, started down the earthwork fortifications in a charge towards the western flank of the enemy's battle line.

  There was an opportunity to be had here and I hoped General Santaran could see it. I wheeled Flin to the side to see the remnant of warriors that had survived the earlier battle for the Shrine mounted behind me, led by Nadalarkin.

  Their horses shifted about nervously, as if they were eager to take part in the battle that was raging beyond us in unbridled intensity.

  “To me!” I yelled, as I wheeled Flin around and plunged down the mound, weaving in and around the forward facing sharpened stakes.

  They followed me, screaming with renewed energy from some deep well of being, as they charged up and over the mound top to plunge down after me. Up ahead of me, I could see the kicked up dirt of the Zoarinian lancers, as they charged in a full ga
llop at the onrushing Valley Lander cavalry ahead of them.

  Flin seemed to float across the ground, covering the distance with ease, and I relished the feel of the powerful horse beneath me that was as committed to the battle as I was. The several hundred mounted warriors at my back were strung out in a loose line, as they urged their mounts harder to catch up with Flin. Regretfully, I eased Flin back some to let them come abreast of me. As the wind rushed past us, I saw the two virtually equal cavalry contingents ahead of us connect together with a terrific force of impact.

  Horses flipped over forwards and warriors were sent hurtling through the air to be crushed in the melee of pounding hooves or impaled on lowered lances. The fighting turned vicious. Broken lances were dropped and swords and maces were drawn out as the two sides fought to get in close to each other.

  Those who fell in the initial impact of furious contact were trampled by the riders around them in their wild desire to kill each other and survive.

  The wind whipped by my face as we plunged toward the backs of the halted, melee driven enemy ahead of us. I knew a moment of savage joy when I saw General Santaran’s mounted warriors, ten thousand strong, surging towards the backs of the melee-engrossed enemy cavalry on their southern flank, even as we were doing on their northern flank. He had seen the opportunity presented, just as I had, when the enemy had redirected their attention from the weaker militia to attack the Attorgrons.

  Letting the mighty warhorse beneath me have his way, I let the reins fall. I raised my sword above my head and gripped it in both hands as the line of the enemy drew near. I crashed into the side of a soldier’s mount which had been in the process of turning to meet our attack from behind.

  The rider’s eyes were wide with terror as Flin slammed into his horse. Flin’s powerful momentum sent the other horse crashing over to the ground and we surged up and over both horse and rider. I swept my sword down to the left and then back up and down to the right as I hacked my way through the tight press of riders in front of me.

  Flin was as vicious as I was. He slammed his way through the enemy mounts and I saw him reach out and grab one man’s arm with his teeth and yank the man from the saddle with a powerful toss of his head, only to trample over the man in the next instance. Flin needed no urging to fight a way through the enemy line.

  I saw General Nadero’s men up ahead and I turned Flin with my knees so that we headed up the enemy line to carve out our own bloody path of carnage. Sparks of color sheeted off the sword with every heavy swing downward that connected.

  Curls of colored smoke twined down my arms to my torso and then down onto Flin. I was getting used to it, but it was still rather jarring to behold. Of the enemy, man and beast alike drew back from us, as much as the tight press would allow, unnerved by our appearance. Flin had gone berserk and I’m not sure how I stayed in the saddle, but I did.

  The sound and sight of a stallion at war is to see what utter fearlessness looks like. It is an utter ferocity of magnificent blood lust and I allowed myself to be swept up in it as I swung my sword with abandon.

  There was space around me and in the fog of war I looked around to see why, only to discover more of my own kind than that of the enemy. Where was the enemy?

  It was then that I saw that they had broken and were fleeing back towards the main army. It was time to finish this day! Grabbing the sword in one hand I hauled Flin around and charged after the departing riders, determined to not let any of them get away.

  So lost was I in the action of the moment that I did not know that I charged alone after the enemy, but General Nadero saw it.

  He surged free of a knot of the enemy that was still fighting and screamed, gesturing after me with his sword, “To Roric men! To Victory!”

  He surged after me, waving his bloody sword in a call to arms, as screaming warriors pulled away from finishing off the rest of the enemy, to charge madly towards the bigger battle ensuing on the plain. Passed over enemy lancers wheeled their mounts toward the south and home, as the Valley Lander cavalry surged in a screaming mass of raw emotion after their leaders and the greater battle raging on the plain.