Torbas lifts one tired leg over the embankment and uses it to hoist the rest of his bulk up and over the stone barrier. His leather boots, new before the campaign season had begun, are now worn through around the toes and heels, exposing bits of his skin to the cold snow. The tall soldier is sure patches of his skin will darken and peel off before the next spring comes; he just hopes all of his toes remain intact. He makes his way up a small that overlooks the swamps of Halkiimmar and the village’s aging docks. The top of the hill offers an excellent view of anyone coming to the village from north or east.
“Aghasi! Rohn! How many do you see?” His voice carries up the hill, though he hopes not far beyond. No use in an enemy hearing him. Up the at the top of the hill two figures shift their position at the sound of his voice. Aghasi shrugs his thin shoulders and looks back as Torbas approaches.
“Too many for us to handle.” Aghasi’s voice is hushed, his face a mask of displeasure as always.
“A company of foot and two troops of horse.” Rohn pushes herself up higher on the gray stone they hide behind. “And bear riders. Maybe a dozen.” The tall woman slides back a bit to stay hidden. “We could handle them, but it would mean deploying the archers.”
Torbas shakes his head. “No. I want them on the ships. They will have to cover us from there.”
“The ships are where we should already be!” Aghasi lifts his hand and points back to the shore. Stone and wood houses dot the landscape near the lonesome stone docks. Three ships stand out there, galleys with large sails and flat bottoms. Flatter than would be safe to cross the sea to Lurn, where most of the company are hoping to winter.
Torbas turns to Rohn, studying the cool hazel eyes that always seem clouded in thought. “Should we have left last night?”
Her frown says more than her words. “Does not matter now.” Rohn turns her eyes back to the coming army. “They’ll catch us before everyone can embark.”
“A fight then. The last thing the Coppershields need now. Half the bands can’t even walk straight!” Aghasi throws up both hands, his dramatic gesture somewhat ridiculous in the overstuffed black cote he is wearing. “We cannot ask them all to fight.”
“I agree.” Rohn looks to Torbas. “My band and the Chachnir. Everyone else make for the boats now.” She begins to collect her ax and other kit. Aghasi follows suit.
Torbas nods. “Why the Chachnir?” His plan was to have the sorcerers join the archers on the galleys.
“The bear riders have sorcery. We’ll need to put our sorcerers against theirs.”
Aghasi stands up, straightening the over-sized cote. “Blessed souls?”
Rohn shurgs and stands next to him, a full head taller. “Or cursed. The white bears they ride care not how they flavor their skins.”
The three retreat from the stone and begin to jog back towards the embankment. Rohn lingers a little to make sure they have not been heard or seen but her long legs allow her to easily keep pace.
“Aghasi, take the first boat. The Dol are already on board with Perri’s archers. As soon as all of your soldiers are on board, make for Tamberton.” Torbas can feel his fatigue dragging at his legs, not a good thing to have in the moments before battle.
Aghasi’s face cringes. “The river? We can’t winter in Tamberton or anything north of Lake Tycia.”
Torbas nods, avoiding stepping in an ice-filled hole. The rocky ground seems more treacherous than when he had walked up a few breaths ago.
“I know. We’ll book passage down to the Ackyyd Sea. We will winter in Port Surnon.”
“Madness!” Aghasi throws his lean body over the embankment and Torbas labors over it as before. Rohn sets one foot on the stone wall and launches herself over and down, never missing a stride. Her companions rush to catch up.
“Dammit woman! Curse your giant’s blood.” Aghasi tries to run faster but his short legs betray him.
Rohn turns her head back just enough to see Aghasi and then Torbas, the latter of which returns her mischievous smile with his own.
“Not the blood, friend, it is all the practice I get leaping your band in battle!”
A few more strides and the three are down among the soldiers of their company, many of whom are gathering their gear and settling into ranks. There is little in the way of camp for them to pack up as the Coppershields carry all their wants on their backs. And in times or urgency that which cannot be carried will be left. Including the dead.
“Chachnir and Permatoi to me!” Rohn’s voice sets those soldiers who had been at rest in motion at once. It echoes across the docks and beach, reaching even those wearing helmets or furred caps over their ears. “Everyone else to Torbas." There is a short pause and Rohn gives Aghasi a mean grin. " And someone help Aghasi get on the first boat!” Laughter breaks the tension and even Aghasi smiles even as he shakes his head and moves off to collect his own depleted band.
"I want everyone else on the galleys! Wounded first, officers last!" Torbas watches them go to work, the remaining soldiers finishing preparations and getting on the other two galleys. For a moment he becomes lost in the stomping of hundreds of feet in random patterns that form a strange rhythm all their own. The tall warrior closes tired eyes and just listens to sounds of an army, his army, moving. As brutal as war and battle are, he cannot deny the lust in his heart for it. No lover has ever aroused his heart the way a coming battle could.
“Captain Torbas!”
Torbas’ eyes snap open and dart through the chaos looking for the owner of the voice. She is not hard to miss, the tall giant in her brown leathers and furs, standing a head taller than even Rohn. With a grace that always awes Torbas, the giant woman makes her way across the snow and dirt from the small port village to stand in front of him. Her face is enigmatic as always, but Torbas can see that she is unhappy.
Unhappy we are leaving? You could have paid us to stay.
“Lord Daeshmiya.” Torbas stands his ground though he wants to do anything but linger here in the damp cold. Even the rising sun cannot warm him enough right now and there will be a battle any moment, one he is not personally prepared for. Conversations with the locals are the last thing he needs right now.
“You are leaving us then? And what of your word, Captain Torbas? What of your reputation?” A frost giant is a patchwork of ice blue and pure white skin, topped by a mane of white or more rarely blue hair. Daeshmiya is one of the latter, born of a noble blood among her people. “I thought better of you.”
“My lord,” Torbas knows he has to choose his words carefully, “we are nearly broken. Half of our number are buried in the grounds of Halkiimmar, alongside your own. We held this village for half a season more than we were paid for. And glad to do it.”
“Your service has been exemplary until this moment, captain. Why leave us now?” She crosses long arms, an almost casual motion, and long fingers droop beneath elbows as she waits his answer.
Torbas can hear Rohn barking out orders, setting the Chachnir and her own Permatoi into position to hold the line. This is no time to be subtle! “They are not here for you, but for us! They are here to kill as many of us as they can. The war can only continue if they attack you, but if they attack only us the peace can be maintained. We killed many of their number, many of their leaders and now that we are at our lowest they want to return the favor.” Torbas lowers his to Daeshmiya, taking a cautious step forward. “We will hurt them badly enough that you should have no trouble with them after this but the Coppershields are leaving and we are leaving today.”
Torbas steps back, locking eyes with the tall woman. She considers him for a long moment. Behind him the archers are launching their arrows from the galleys, softening the attackers before the two sides come blade to blade. His heart is racing with an eagerness for battle and as their leader he knows his soldiers look to him to fight with them. Torbas takes another step, this one to the side, signaling his eagerness to be off.
“See to it that you die well, Captain Torbas.” With that, Lord Daesmiya turns on her heel and walks in perfect strides back towards the walls of her village. Torbas can see the giants preparing for battle alongside some of their free-soul brethren.
At least they have walls to defend from.
Impatiently, Torbas waits until Daesmiya has moved far enough away and then runs as best he can towards the sound of battle ready to kick off. There is much yelling and jeers being passed between the two sides, all audible from down on the beach. Another wave of arrows sweeps overhead, landing in the middle of the Dvari soldiers. A few footmen fall to the ground screaming, having been targeted by more arrows then their wooden shields can block. None of the horsemen are wounded and there is no sign of the bear riders.
Rohn has set up her spearmen in two groups to the right and left of the road leading to the village behind a shallow ditch. Each group is angled slightly back towards the road and has their other flank anchored on frozen swamp which the company learned the ice is thinner than one might expect. Between the two groups of spearmen there is a gap where the road passes through and here the Chachnir wait, crouching with their curved knives and shaved heads. Each wears a padded cote like his own, their normal battle armor already stored on the galleys. The battle had been unexpected and the Coppershields had not been ready to fight it. Torbas curses his bad luck and bad planning, more so since Rohn had warned him this would happen. She will never let him live this down, especially if he got killed.
“They are coming!” It is Rohn and even though Torbas cannot see her, he can easily hear her. A moment later a group of men and women on horse, hair blowing behind them from unprotected heads come barreling out of the woods near the right flank. Twenty Permatoi turn to face this group, crouching slightly and bracing their long spears on the ground. This does not seem to discourage the riders much as they charge across the swamp and its icy waters. But the charge is a bluff and Torbas watches as the horsemen reign in their mounts and retreat a short distance to reorganize.
“Watch the left!”
Torbas snaps his head around at the cry and can see a line of javelin wielding Dvari emerge from yet another copse of trees. They throw their weapons with considerable force, but none of the Permatoi are wounded. The Dvari draw curved swords and come on, running and yelling over the broken ground. Torbas sweeps the field with his eyes but can see nothing of the other group of horse or the bear riders. More footmen appear from all around, in small groups of ten or twenty. They throw their javelins and manage to wound two spearmen. Comrades and auxiliaries pull the wounded free and the lines redress. Neither he nor Rohn have to give orders just yet; the soldiers understand their roles in battle.
Suddenly the first group of horse have regrouped and seem to be making their final charge on Torbas’ right. Twenty-five or so riders come crashing down on the spearmen, pushing the line back a few feet but paying for it with five of their own. Horse and man are stabbed or slashed or skewered on spears and blood soaks the ground around the skirmish. Out of nowhere Rohn appears amidst them, rallying the survivors of that flank and bringing her long ax down on the head of the Dvari troop’s leader. The other woman’s body falls one way as her head falls towards Rohn and the ax bites all the way through her, into the horse, cracking its spine. Animal and rider come crashing down, nearly smothering Rohn, who has to leap aside to avoid them. Even the noise of battle does not drown out the dying animal’s cry. Permatoi move to cover their leader, driving back and killing two horsemen. Torbas watches as riderless horses nearly trample the oncoming footmen, who move out of the way or slash at the horses as they pass. More arrows from the ships come in, though fewer this time. No doubt Aghasi has left with the first ship by now and the second ship will be following them soon.
“In the center!” The voice is that of one of the sergeants, but as soon as he speaks a javelin lodges itself in the man’s throat and he falls down into the icy waters.
But Torbas sees the enemy’s move; five men and women on foot heading for the gap in the road. None of the Permatoi move to close the gap; clearly Rohn has prepared them for this, to resist breaking their line. Torbas realizes he is the closest person to the gap now and motions for three of the Chachnir to follow him, which they do. Suddenly his own fatigue and pain are gone and Torbas gives a great cry as he slams into the first enemy, a woman with green eyes and a wicked knife. Torbas brings his forearm up and crashes into her small shield, sending her backward. He keeps the momentum and with his sword hand, stabs twice with two quick strikes to her groin and breast. The first thrust cripples her and the second finds something vital as blood begins to spray from the wound. She slumps down the ground, green eyes rolling back in her head.
Torbas doesn’t savor the kill, instead finding another enemy who sees the large Erenite and at the last minute dodges Torbas swing. The man comes up swinging and their iron clashes once and then again and then again. But Torbas is moving forward still, getting closer with each sweep of his sword and on the fourth try, the tip of his blade crosses the eyes of the man, gouging out the left and blinding the right. The man screams, but the scream becomes a hoarse choke as Torbas slashes deep across the man’s throat. Blood gushes forth as the man falls face down, his body twitching in its last moments.
It is all chaos now, with the freewheeling Dvari using the chaos the get through the defenses of the stalwart Permatoi. Men and women stab, slash, die, succumb to arrows or javelins, scream, loose their bowels from fear or wounds, and the two sides begin to become smaller and smaller. Torbas sees one of the Chachnir who followed him fall, a javelin in his groin. Two more of the sorcerers join Torbas, the battle for the road becoming a hungry monster feeding on all sides.
Sensing danger, Torbas throws himself out of the way before he is hit from behind by a man with an ax. The ax cuts a portion of his cote and nicks his shoulder; barely noticable to Torbas in the heat of battle, but blood begins to flow down is arm. A Chachnir comes up and stabs at the ax wielder while Torbas punches the man with his left hand. Between them the barbarian is soon on the ground, bleeding from half a dozen wounds. Torbas looks around and sees the enemy’s attack has broken and the first pulse of the battle is over. He wipes his face with his sword hand, noticing for the first time the pain of the first small cut.
“The second boat is moving!” Torbas sees that it is Rohn, soaked in blood as always, so much that he cannot tell if the blood is hers or her enemies. She is not heavy of breath as he is nor does she seem hurried.
“It is time for us to go, Rohn.”
She does not acknowledge him, but instead waves her hands in a specific set of motions. A few breaths later the soldiers of the right flank move perpendicular to the road, covering its width while the Permatoi of the left flank run down the road towards the docks. Torbas knows they will keep running until they reach a position where they can cover the rest of the troops.
“Where are the bear riders?” Torbas has not seen them in the battle yet.
Rohn shakes her head. “Behind us somewhere, waiting to pounce on us as we get to the ship. We should not tarry here.” Rohn steps forward and shouts in a hoarse voice “By the rank! Ten paces, fall back!”
The first rank of soldiers turns and runs back ten paces, turning again to see up a defense. The next rank follows suit, passing through the first and going ten paces beyond them. In this way the last of the Permatoi retreat to the beach. The Chachnir have already fallen back, withholding their magic until the bear riders reveal themselves.
And so they do just as the groups of Permatoi are going to link up near the dock. From behind the village the riders come screaming through snow and ice down the beach towards the stone docks. The Chachnir are there, racing out towards their the foes they have sought all morning. Torbas watches, fascinated by the way magicians love to battle one another whenever the opportunity arises. Each side begins throwing invisible forces at the other; disruptive waves of magical energy the savage a human body and even a bear’s when it connects. The bear riders and the Chachnir crash into one another, convergent waves of hatred and passion bent on destroying their enemy to the last.
A bear tears the head off of a Chachnir, but not before the women plunges her sword into its throat. Two more Chachnir die taking down a rider and his mount. Bolts of lightning flash over head and the occasional fire demon is unleashed among combatants, zigzagging through the battle and burning friend and foe alike. Arrows from the last galley begin picking off riders, but its takes six or seven arrows to bring the sorcerers down. It takes over a dozen to bring down one of the bears. Torbas yells and organizes the Permatoi near him the best he can. They can do little save pick off stragglers and resist the coming of a fresh cavalry attack. More Permatoi go down, some falling into the icy waters near the docks, where their bronze armors will drag the wounded to their deaths.
“Torbas!” It is Rohn, yelling at him and the tired captain realizes he has let the ferocity of the battle mesmerize him. A bear and rider break from the melee and charge him as arrows are shot from the bow. Torbas dives to his side, but too late and the bear catches him mid dive, pitching the big man head over heels into the icy water. His momentum carries him deeper as he flails about, losing his sword as the Erenite tries to right himself and get back to the surface.
But the cold tugs at his skin and the water is heavy on his tired limbs. Torbas expels water from his lungs, but with it goes his air and his chest catches fire as he forces his own mouth tightly shut. Torbas swims with mighty strokes but the surface seems further and dimmer than it had when he started and he is just about to give up, about to swallow the icy death and end his misery when something big enters the water near him.
The bears are swimmers. It has come to finish me off and feast on my flesh.
But when large mass swims up to him, the tangle of red hair tells him that this is no bear. Strong arms grab Torbas and drag him to the surface. Choking and gasping, Torbas lets himself get dragged onto the rocky beach and lies there wheezing until he has enough breath to speak. Turning over he sees his soldiers picking up their wounded and dead. Near where he went into the water, a bear rider and her mount are completely split in two as if some great force had cut them in half where they stood.
“Did... did we win?” Torbas chokes out the question.
Rohn’s smile is a sad one, her clouded eyes surveying the detritus of war. “Yes, we won. Now, let us leave this place.”