The Pulver Chronicles – 30. With A Pocketful Of Shells

The news had first come from the Elves in the form of a raven carrying a message, as often. Said message was short, but to the point:

Two armies moving south. Two thousand five hundred strong, led by Arch. Namtar. Brought siege weapons. Arrival two weeks.

It was written in Elvish, naturally. Bonnie read it outloud to the tribes’ war chiefs. They, along with Bonnie and Jackson, were all gathered in a large hut built specifically for such reunions, at a low table around which they all sat cross-legged. The title of war chief was another of Byron’s reforms, decided soon after Atvello. There were too many tribe chieftains -over forty- to convene at every war council, and it made the process of making decisions too long. So Byron had asked those chieftains to nominate those among them who understood war better, who could lead the Rebellion army, and who were willing to bear the responsibilities that came with such a role. The rest of the chieftains would stay back in Vertrisia, minding their usual duties not just for their own tribes but for those whose chieftains had gone to war. This also helped insure that someone would be able to lead the defense in case the Rebellion was attacked in its home while many of its warriors were away. 

Like with the officers, the idea had gotten a mixed reception. Ultimately, though, it had been accepted, on the provision that there would only be war chiefs for as long as there was a war going on. As soon as peace was achieved, the title and its privileges would be suspended or perhaps even abolished. In total, five war chiefs had been named, in addition to Alizana.

 Then, Byron read the second message. This one was a letter, written in Imperial, having been delivered by an arrow to Tinaun, stuck in one of their watchtowers under the cover of the night. The archer had not even been seen.

From Namtar, Archmaster of the Silver Ridge, to Shatter-the-Shields, chief of the savage curs that have rebelled against his rule, and Mad Jack, the Human so devoid of dignity he obeys dogs:

I am marching on Tinaun to end their defiance and render it to the Hexacracy to which it rightfully belongs. You are ordered to stand down and not attempt to get in my way. Hide in your forest like the wild beasts that you are, and I will consider sparing your lives.

You have been warned. I have created you, and can just as easily destroy you.

There was no signature, but there was an ornate wax sigil at the bottom. As soon as Jackson was done reading, the war chiefs immediately started talking all at the same time.

“Namtar!” Alizana roared. “It was him, then. He’s the one who created us, and tried to make us his slaves!”

“Really? I didn’t think he would have the arcane knowledge for such a feat,”  Yanu -the chieftain whom Jackson used to call Short-Hair- said. “The man knows some magic, but mostly for crafting and smithing. The most he could do was create some golems to work in his mines.”

“It seems he had more up his sleeve than anyone thought,” Aleo said. “But why would he want Tinaun? It’s a small city, not worth sending two armies.”

“Maybe he learned his lesson from last time: a few raiding bands will not do,” Yanu said.

“Don’t be foolish,” Culli said. “This is not about Tinaun. This is about us!”

“She’s right,” Bonnie said. “What the Hexacracy means to do is draw us out by attacking Tinaun.”

“How could it be about us?” Naele, chieftain of the Kele tribe, asked. “He asked us to stand aside. Well, “ordered” us.”

“It’s simple,” Jackson, or rather, Byron intervened. “The enemy is marching towards an allied town, with the intent to take it, and probably loot and destroy it. That gives us two choices. One: we respond by sending an army to meet theirs, in order to protect our ally. Two: we do nothing, and leave Tinaun to fend for itself.”

“The second choice seems the safest,” Culli said.

“These people are our allies, and you would let them die?” Aleo said, her nose wrinkled in contained anger.

“I didn’t say that. I said it seemed the safest choice. The enemy outnumbers us.”

“We were outnumbered at Atvello as well,” Byron pointed out.

“We had surprise on our side,” Culli said. “Not anymore. This time, if what Jack says is true, they are expecting us. And preparing for us, from what you’re suggesting.”

“Most likely,” Jackson-Byron said. “And yet, we must respond. Ignoring Tinaun will only serve the Hexacracy’s interests.”

“How so?” Culli asked.

“Simple: our alliance was created on the basis that we would protect those who aid us,” Byron said. “It hinges on that principle. If we ignore Tinaun now, we prove the alliance worthless. The other towns and villages who have allied with us, or are considering doing so, will change their minds. Why join us if we won’t protect others? That’s the message Namtar intends to send to the Southern Marches.”

“We protected Tinaun and Atvello already,” Culli said. “We came to their rescue when no one else would. Is that not proof enough?”

“It was,” Byron said, “but that proof will be erased along with Tinaun if the town is taken and destroyed. People will think that the wind is changing, or that maybe our initial successes were just luck. This” he tapped the Elves’ letter “is the real test for our alliance. If we meet with the Hexacracy in battle on equal terms, without the benefit of surprise, and still win, there will be no doubt that we can hold our own through this war.”

“Mad Jack is right,” Aleo said. “What’s more, the Elves tell us Namtar himself is leading those two armies. What humiliation for the Archdemons if we face one of them in battle, and win the day!”

Naele nodded coldly. “And we’ll certainly not miss the chance to meet our maker… and send him to meet his.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Alizana said. Her face turned into a sneer. “That… man is under the delusion that he can still order us, that we still belong to him. I say we prove him wrong. I say we prove the entire Hexacracy wrong.”

There was a murmur of agreement among the war chiefs.

“Unless someone has another thing to say about this, let’s put the decision to a vote,” Byron said. “Shall we meet Namtar’s armies in battle to protect Tinaun? All in favor, raise your hands.”

Decisions in the war council were almost always made this way: a show of hands -or rather, paws. Jackson-Byron, in his quality of strategist, didn’t have a vote, but could act as a tie-breaker if necessary. Bonnie, as representative of the Elves, didn’t get a vote either.

The title of strategist was another reform brought to the Rebellion in the wake of the victory at Atvello, but surprisingly it had not been suggested by Byron -or by Jackson. It was Alizana who had first come up with the idea of giving him -or them- such a title to reflect his position, and confirm his authority among the warriors. The reform was agreed upon unanimously. 

The powers and limitations of the position were still somewhat blurry. For instance, while he could participate in war councils and put motions to a vote, same as a war chief, it had not been clearly decided whether his position made him equal or superior to the actual war chiefs; there had been arguments for and against each possibility. The only limitation that had been decided is that the powers of  a strategist were restricted to war councils and the battlefield. In any other circumstances, Jackson-Byron was just a tribemate, with no more or less authority than the others.

All five war chiefs raised their paws, even Culli.

“It’s decided,” Alizana said. “We will protect Tinaun, and go to battle with Namtar’s armies.”

“Yes, but the question is: how?” Culli said. “The enemy is expecting us, they outnumber us, and they won’t be busy assaulting a city this time. Namtar is so confident, he even sent us a letter announcing his intentions!”

“A foolish move,” Yanu commented. “Without that letter, we wouldn’t have been sure Tinaun was his target.”

“I trust Mad Jack will find a way,” Aleo said. “He has yet to fail us.”

“I’ll do my best,” Byron said. “First, we’ll need to do some scouting. I want a good idea of what the terrain looks like, between where Namtar’s armies are and Tinaun.”

He ran his finger on the map.

As more Hellhounds had trained themselves to ride horses, the suggestion of making mounted scouts out of some of them had come naturally. Byron had encouraged it, in part because he didn’t want to rely entirely on the Vertrisian Elves for intelligence.

“My huntresses can handle that,” Naele said.

“So can mine,” Yanu said.

“It would be good to divide the work,” Byron said. “Naele, the Kele tribe can scout the northern part of the region; Yanu, the Tulu tribe can do the southern part.”

“Fine by me,” Yanu said.

“Done,” Naele said. “If there is a good spot there for an ambush, we’ll find it.”

“It would also be wise to delay those armies as much as possible. Harass them with quick skirmishes here and there, attack them at night wherever they camp.”

“Sounds like a job for my people,” Bonnie said. “I bet Namtar’s soldiers haven’t even heard of Leunnya.”

“Don’t expect to have all the fun by yourself,” Aleo said with a toothy smile. “My tribe and I love to fight under the stars.”

The meeting went on for another three hours, as the war chiefs brought on and discussed other subjects. It was mostly the usual: the Hexacracy, the Empire, their victories and defeats, the changes of loyalty in various marches, speculation on what would happen next… One particularly notable thing was brought up by Bonnie.

“The Empire has won a battle against the Hexacracy,” she said. “Not just some skirmish, an actual battle. I don’t have the details yet, but it went pretty badly for the Hexacracy. The Emperor came up with a pretty good tactic, making use of the elements. Apparently, the Hexacrats had limited visibility because of the rain, and they couldn’t see the enemy’s movements, so the Emperor, who knew the terrain, managed to split them apart. The Hexacrats lost about a couple hundred soldiers before they decided to retreat. On top of that, the loss of men meant they didn’t have the soldiers to take a castle they needed, which is now firmly in the hands of the Empire.”

“More dead Hexacrats,” Culli said. “Good news for us.”

Aleo grunted in agreement.

“Where did this battle take place?” Byron asked.

“From what we know, about… here.” Bonnie tapped a spot on the map, in the northeastern portion of the Marches.

“The Empire seems to be getting closer,” Yanu said.

“But they’re still quite far away,” Alizana said. “At this rate, they won’t arrive near Vertrisia before next year.”

“Provided they continue to find victory on the battlefield,” Culli said. “The Hexacracy may well push them back.”

“Either way, they’re a problem for later,” Aleo said. “A more concerning matter is the winter.”

With autumn having arrived in the South, one of the most commonly discussed subjects among the Rebellion and the peasants allied with it was the next winter. Winters were usually mild in the Southern Marches, although windy and often rainier than autumn; storms were not uncommon. However, local belief had it that the fall being early this year meant the winter would be quite cold; some soothsayers in villages had allegedly predicted the same thing. Jackson was not sure how much credit to give to those predictions -magic was real in this world after all-, but all the same, the next season had to be prepared for.

Harvest season was mostly at an end, save for a few plants and crops who would be reaped in the coming months, and people everywhere in the Marches were now busy filling granaries and warehouses with as much food as possible. The Hellhounds were doing the same, collecting as much food and hunting as much game as they could, and treating or curing it to ensure its preservation. Others were fixing or reinforcing their huts to make sure it would survive the winds of winter.

The war council mostly discussed winter in how it would affect their military operations. Most war chiefs agreed their activities should be considerably decreased, even suspended altogether. Culli and Yanu, however, pointed out that the Hexacracy would need even more supplies through the cold season, meaning raids on their caravans and their granaries would be very effective at hindering the war effort. While the other war chiefs admitted they had a point, the fact was such raids would also cost the Rebellion a lot of supplies, supplies which they also needed and in fact weren’t sure they would have enough of to last through the entire winter.

“All the more reason for these raids, then,” Culli said. “Better the Hexacracy’s soldiers starve than ours.”

“It’s a gamble,” Aleo said. “No doubt the Hexacracy will be protecting their supplies even more, after all these raids, and especially now that they know we’re part of the war.”

“And it’s almost certain they’ll dig in through the winter,” Byron said, “retreat to the castles or the fortified cities they took. We have no siege weapons, and we don’t know how to build them. As to besiege a fort in the middle of winter, that would just be suicide.”

“I agree with Jack,” Alizana said, hesitating almost imperceptibly when she said “his” name. “This is a bad idea. We’ll reconsider if we see an opportunity, or if our own circumstances change.”

Culli scratched her chin with her index claw, but didn’t argue the point further.

“I think we’ve gone through our list of subjects for this council,” Byron said. “Unless someone has anything else to bring up?”

“Ah, actually, yes,” Bonnie said. “I looked into these rumors you heard, about Hellhounds active in the northern marches.”

“And?”

“Well, it was pretty hard to find anything, what with everything going on, but it is true that several villages have been attacked. Their supplies have been raided, and a lot of people have been killed. Apparently, these attacks happened soon after the Hexacracy invaded.”

“Could it not have been the Hexacracy, then?” Yanu said.

“Not likely. The raiders didn’t use weapons. Well, not conventional weapons.”

“What does that mean?” Alizana said.

“Whoever did it had claws. Big claws. And they were physically strong, too.”

Alizana’s jaw tensed up.

“Not your garden variety of raiders, then,” Byron said.

“Nope,” Bonnie said.

“Who could it be?” Yanu said. “If it is one of our tribes, why didn’t they join us here in Vertrisia?”

Byron glanced at Alizana, who seemed lost in her thoughts. By her expression, those looked to be dark thoughts.

“That’s a mystery for later,” Byron said. “For now, let’s focus our attention and our efforts on Namtar.”

“With pleasure,” Yanu said. “I guess that means the meeting is over.”

“About time,” Aleo said. “I’m ravenous.”

The meeting was thus adjourned. Unceremonious, but such was often the case with the Hellhounds, who cared little for the forms. There was literally no word for “decorum” in their vernacular.

Left alone with Alizana, Jackson and Byron switched, and the former got the use of his body back. Alizana seemed to notice the change before Jackson informed her. She kissed her mate on the cheek, letting her lips linger for a second, and left the hut to see the other war chiefs off.

“I really don’t know how you can handle being without a body, sometimes,” Jackson said, stretching every muscle of his body.

“I got used to it, I suppose,” Byron said. “But I certainly appreciate our exchanges.”

He focused his attention on the map. Several small wooden figurines were placed all over it. Designed by Sathariel, they were meant to represent the various armies and divisions. Byron had to ask Jackson to move them for him, of course. The veteran muttered to himself, his eyes going from one side of the map to the other, his face void of expression. Once again, it looked like he was going to be at it for a while.

“You’re gonna find something, right?” Jackson couldn’t help but ask. “You’re gonna find a way to win this.”

“Are you nervous, Jackson?”

“Well… Yeah. I mean, I should be, right? This doesn’t look good. In fact, it kinda looks like…”

“Like we’re heading towards another Dusk Steppe?” Byron suggested. Jackson nodded. “It does look like that, yes. We defeated one army, and now the Hexacracy is sending two more to end the threat we represent.”

He massaged his chin and hummed.

“Maybe we can use that,” he said.

“Use it how?”

“I’m not sure yet…” Byron moved around the table, his hands joined behind his back. “Namtar wants to end the Hellhound problem. For good, this time. He also knows what formidable opponents they are. He’ll want to do this in the most efficient way. A quick battle; with a precise target.”

Byron was mumbling, brainstorming out loud.

“Or targets, as it were.”

“You mean the war chiefs?” Jackson said.

“He likely doesn’t know of their existence, although he possibly suspects that we use some sort of officers. But there are two other targets he knows of. Two targets who cost him a lot of men at Atvello.”

Jackson cleared his throat. “Me and Alizana.”

“Exactly. Alizana, the leader of the Rebellion, and Mad Jack, the strategist and commander of the armies. Should these two appear on the battlefield, Namtar would certainly not pass on the opportunity to kill them both.”

“No, I guess he wouldn’t. But how is he going to make sure we’ll both be here? I mean, he sent us that message to…”

Jackson looked at the message again.

“Wait. You think he’s baiting us?”

“Of course. What better way to ensure your and Alizana’s presence than to specifically order them to be elsewhere, and insult them on top of that?”

“Heh, yeah. “The Human so devoid of dignity he obeys dogs”.” Jackson chuckled. “Gotta admit, that’s more clever than the insults I usually get. But if you’re right, that means he’s not just preparing for us: he’s leading us into a trap.”

“Probably, yes,” Byron said. “But maybe we can make that work for us.”

***

As a general, it was fitting that Navna served as an example to his men. That was why he had woken up early that day, earlier than the sun in fact. That was why he performed his training routines precisely as his weapon master had designed them. That was also why, as he faced his officers to give his orders to dismount the camp and prepare for the road, he remained perfectly stone-faced, showing nothing but indifference for the attack suffered the previous night. This meant little indeed to Navna, son of Namtar, groomed since childhood for command and excellence. He had sworn to himself he wouldn’t shame his father by showing weakness.

And when the next night the beasts attacked again as his army camped on the ridge of a hill, he gave both his men and his enemies a different kind of example. The beasts tried to launch a surprise attack on their foragers. But this time, Navna’s soldiers were able to send light cavalry and fend them off. The enemy retreated, but not before one of them lost her horse to a volley of arrows.

It was the first time Navna saw one of these creatures. It was even bigger than he had been told, looking like the progeny of a wolf and a giant. Even downed and hurt, it still opposed fierce resistance, grievously wounding one soldier who got too close. Two other soldiers retaliated by skewering the monstrous dog with their spears, which still did not kill it, but was sufficient to subdue it. Navna ordered it to be captured alive. Chains were brought, and placed on its wrists and ankles with utmost precaution. The creature tried to bite; an officer gagged it with thick cloth.

Navna looked to the nearby hills. He had no doubt the rest of these rabid dogs were watching. Thus, he decided to give them something to report back to their packs. He ordered his soldiers to place a beam outside camp. Then, pitch was brought, and the captured beast was robbed of its clothing, and coated in it. The beast was affixed to the beam, still snarling and screaming muffled threats and swears. Navna took a lit torch and stood before his gathered soldiers.

“Tonight, our enemy thought to teach us fear,” he said. “These feral beasts believed they could frighten us into abandoning our mission and scattering in the hills. But we are soldiers of the Hexacracy, oathed to Namtar, Archmaster of the Silver Ridge. We faced the barbarians from the north, and the insurgents in the east. We are the blood of Kadvar and Nitmo. We serve the Armilus in his glorious war. We know no fear but the one we instill in our enemies!”

And with these words, he created a flame in the palm of his gloved hand, and brought it against the creature’s skin. The fire took rapidly, and soon the creature was devoured whole by the flames. Its screams tore through the night, echoing in the hills. It thrashed and shook with the energy of desperation, trying to break its ties, but the ropes held. The flames burned bright; there was little doubt they could be seen leagues away. Navna gazed at the burning monster, then at his soldiers. Some of the latter showed qualms; they would have to be taught better than to show sympathy to wild creatures. The rest however, displayed a mixture of satisfaction -when looking at the creature- and awe -when looking at their general. Navna smiled.

“In less than two weeks, their monstrous leader will be right there,” Navna continued, pointing at the creature, raising his voice to cover its screams of agony. “And that Human pet of hers will be made to watch. This, I promise you with the Armilus as wit-”

His speech was interrupted by a shunted, sharp noise, followed by screams and gasps of surprise. Navna turned back to the creature, and swore between his teeth. The beast had died early, an arrow having pierced its throat. The general glanced around, but couldn’t see any archer. Some of his horsemen offered to track them, but Navna ordered them to stand down. It didn’t matter. The corpse continued to burn for a while, and, the next morning, as the army packed up and resumed its march south, its remains were left there to rot.

The next day and night were calm. The army traveled unmolested, its soldiers assaulted by nothing but the rain and the wind. Navna smiled. As he had predicted, the message had been understood. He made sure to add a mention of this in his weekly report before he had his courier deliver it to his father.

The two armies were traveling separately, following parallel routes, but remained close to one another, close enough that they could assist each other in case of a major attack. They had learnt their lesson from Atvello. This was also the reason why the Archmaster had insisted on bringing heavy cavalry, enough of it to meet the estimated numbers of the enemy cavalry, and then some. This had been expensive, as it had required the hiring of quite a few mercenaries, to say nothing of the additional supplies. The ordinarily frugal Namtar had acquiesced to that expense without any hesitation.

Navna frowned as he was reminded of that. His father had indeed been acting differently, ever since Atvello. A combination of nervosity, anger, and apprehension seemed to possess him. Understandable, of course: the defeat at Atvello had left a stinging mark. Navna still remembered how furious Elyonn had been, when the Six had gathered for an emergency council a few days after the battle. The Archcommander was already an impressive character, with his tall stature combined with the aura of confidence he projected. But when angry, he was nothing short of terrifying. Elyonn had been shouting so loudly all of Varda might well have heard it. What! Two armies defeated, and Atvello lost! How was that possible? The explanation, when given, only kindled his fury. An unknown army of huge monsters, seemingly coming out of nowhere? Absurd!

The Archcommander had blamed the scouts for not finding out about this ahead of time. He had blamed the armies for failing their duties. He had blamed the soldiers who fled the battlefield for their cowardice. He had blamed the generals for losing control of the battle. And beyond all, he had blamed Namtar for overseeing this entire debacle. Navna had half-expected his father to bristle at the accusation, but Namtar had actually agreed with Elyonn. In fact, he had not just accepted the fault for the defeat against the beasts, but had immediately volunteered to fight this new, unknown threat on his own. Whatever these creatures where, he had said, and wherever they hid, he would track them and destroy them.

Things had moved quickly after that. Namtar had promptly organized two armies, taking direct control of the first and placing his son in command of the second. It was the first time the Archcommander would go to battle himself; he had not even done so during that peasants’ revolt years ago, the one that had cost him an entire army, complete with their officers. Actually, Navna wasn’t sure what was different this time. True, his father had lost face in front of the other Archdemons, but he felt there had to be more. He had actually asked about this, but his father had only given him an evasive answer concerning the importance of this war, before reminding him of his filial duty.

Well, after all, that didn’t really matter to Navna. What mattered was that he had earned his first command; he would soon take part in his first battle, and be given an opportunity to prove himself to his father. This wasn’t training anymore, nor one of these tedious lessons of tactics or military history he had to suffer for years. This was an actual battle. One that would place him in front of an important enemy, to boot.

Speaking of the enemy, Navna had been a little surprised that his father knew so much about them, especially given that no one even suspected of their existence a few weeks ago. Namtar even appeared to know where their fief was -the Vertrisian Forest. Navna had not asked any questions as to that, however, figuring it was above his rank. He did suspect that the Archlady Azazel might have had a hand in it; his father had mentioned her from time to time, often indirectly and rarely by name. Navna little knew of her, but if his father trusted her, then it was fine by him.

As to the enemy, however, he had asked many questions. His father had answered several thoroughly, and some with very short answers. A few he had even ignored. The enemy were wild animals, he had said. Monstrous creatures, half-feral barbarians who understood little but violence. They adored fighting, and hunted Demons and Humanoids for sport. Curious, Navna had asked how such wild beasts could have formed armies and come up with the strategy they had used at Atvello. His father had tutted and given another elusive answer, something to do with that strange Human -that “Mad Jack”, so called- who served them, and with their “past training”. When pressed on that last comment, Namtar had gotten impatient and ended the discussion.

“What you need to know,” he had said, “is that they are our enemy, that they have killed many of our soldiers, and will do so again unless we stop. And we will stop them, by meeting them in battle and slaughtering them to the last. Take the Second Army and march to Tinaun; keep in regular contact with me by courier. Those are your orders. Do not fail me.”

And fail him, he would not. Navna had promised himself that.

Another day came and went without any signs from the enemy. There was however a strange report. One of the night sentries reported that one of his comrades was missing. In fact, he believed it to be missing since the last attack. Navna ordered a count of his soldiers, which revealed that everyone was present and accounted for. This was compounded by the fact that the attack had left no casualty. But the sentry was adamant. There was a soldier, he said, a young Demon, that he had seen several times on the night shift, that could now no longer be found in camp. The sentry could not give an accurate description or a name, however, and so Navna decided to disregard that matter -and to reduce that particular sentry’s daily wine ration.

The next day, soon before sunset, a courier arrived, carrying word from Namtar. The Archdemon demanded his son’s presence, along with his lieutenants, to a strategic council. Navna felt energized as he read his father’s missive. This could only mean one thing: the battle neared. Navna took his destrier, his lieutenants, and an escort, and rode hard to his father’s camp.

The Archmaster had established his fortified camp on top of a flattened hill. A small river ran at its bottom. Several torches had already been lit along its walls, in anticipation of the night. Namtar awaited his son in the biggest tent at the center, dressed in his black leather coat with silver lining. Dinner was being served as Navna arrived; some local game, seared over a campfire. Namtar, his son, and their lieutenants went to stand around a large table. A boy, whom Navna recognized as his father’s page, placed two maps and a letter on the table. Navna saw that the first map was one of the Southern Marches, specifically of the hinterlands where the two armies were located; it was flanked on the east by Vertrisia, whose forest only covered a few inches of the map. The second map he couldn’t identify. It was drawn crudely, and lacked details. Looking closer, Navna realized it wasn’t a geographical map, but a tactical one. Its features were troops and divisions, not locations. Several arrows were also drawn, indicating troop movements.

“Good evening,” Namtar said. “I’ll be brief, as the situation requires it. The enemy has mobilized its armies, and is marching to meet ours. According to our scouts, they will reach us in two days, some twenty leagues northwest of Tinaun, close to the Vertrisian Forest, in a place named the valley of Baluq.”

“Do they mean to attack us at night once more, Archmaster?” one of his lieutenants, Herig, asked.

So the beasts have launched night attacks against my father as well, Navna thought.

“Unfortunately, they’ll not be quite so foolish. They likely realize that one of our armies’ fortifications would slow down any assault, giving the other army enough time to arrive and rout them. No, their only hope of defeating us, they believe, is to meet us on the battlefield.”

“On the battlefield!” Navna said. “Our reports indicate that they field only half our numbers.”

“More than half, actually. But they think the tactic they have conceived will compensate for this disadvantage.”

The corner of the Archmaster’s mouth curled up in a discrete smile. Navna lifted an eyebrow.

“Do they?” he said.

“This” Namtar explained, tapping his finger on the crudely drawn map “is the enemy’s tactic -such as it is.”

Another of Namtar’s lieutenants -Radga- slid the map towards him, and glanced at it.

“They appear to have a good estimation of our numbers,” he said. “But not of our composition.”

“Indeed,” Namtar said. “They make no difference between our light and heavy cavalries.”

“Quite possibly, they don’t even know there is one,” Navna said, craning his neck to look at the map. His lieutenants chuckled.

“It is also possible that they are not aware of the mercenaries we have hired,” his father said. “Anyway, as you can see from that map, their tactic is in a way a repeat of the one they used at Atvello: their infantry will be divided in two corps, and attack the bulk of our troops from two directions. Meanwhile, their cavalry will engage ours, to keep it occupied until our infantry is routed or defeated.”

“Their light cavalry,” Navna said. “They don’t appear to have any other sort.”

“Quite right,” Namtar said. “And that is the flaw in their plan I intend to exploit. That light cavalry has proven effective in harassing and crippling our infantry at Atvello, even though their riders clearly had little training. That same cavalry facing our armored, trained knights and mercenaries… Well, this will be a very different fight.”

Herig chuckled darkly.

“There’s more,” the Archdemon continued, exhibiting the letter. “The leader of that bunch of rebellious mongrels, that Alizana, will be present on the battlefield. And so will that Human, the one they call Mad Jack. The former will lead the infantry, the latter the cavalry.”

The lieutenants read the letter in turn. There were exchanged glances, and confident smiles around the table. Navna read it last. It was a list of orders for the upcoming battle, written by Mad Jack to some tribe chieftain named Aleo.

“It seems they know you’ll be there as well, father,” he said. “Alizana herself wishes to personally give you the killing blow.”

“Indeed,” Namtar said. “I believe this is the reason for her presence. That, and the fact she doesn’t want to lose face before her people: if I dare appear in battle, so must she.”

“That is convenient for us,” Radga commented.

“Yes, quite. This gives us the opportunity to kill not one but both of this Rebellion’s leaders. The damage this will cause to their morale will be tremendous. In fact, the threat these creatures pose could be dealt with in a single battle.”

“How did we obtain all this information?” Navna inquired. “Azazel?”

“No, better. Following one of their nightly attacks, I sent a unit to find out where they had attacked from. I thought perhaps they had a temporary camp, which we could destroy to disturb their operations. Unfortunately, the track was lost soon after entering a small forest north of here. But what my soldiers found instead, looking around the woods, was much better: the body of a courier. A Human mercenary, apparently, who had been killed by a wild animal -a boar, my soldiers tell me.” The Archmaster smiled. “The map and the letter were found in his bag. He had been killed recently. The rebels, it seems, do not even know he’s dead, let alone that we have recovered these documents.”

Navna laughed, a single “ha!” loud enough to be heard from outside the tent. Oh, this was excellent! Had he been the spiritual sort, Navna would have no doubt thanked the Armilus for this boon. Or perhaps Elyonn, which many seemed to truly believe was his incarnation in this world.

“As the Archlady contributed anything to the upcoming battle, then?” he asked. 

His father had mentioned having requested her help, but to his knowledge Azazel had not sent any of her magis nor any equipment. In fact, she hadn’t offered a single coin.

“She has, actually,” Namtar said with an expression that could either mean: “and it was about time” or: “but just barely”.

He pulled something from under the collar of his tabard. A pendant. Navna had little idea what it was, but could sense magic overflowing it.

“A protective amulet,” Namtar explained. “Quite powerful; her agent who delivered it to me gave me a demonstration with the one he was wearing. It can stop anything from an arrow to a spell. There’s one for you as well, Navna.”

The Archmaster got him an identical pendant from one of his pockets.

“Father,” he announced, putting it around his neck, “I wish to take command of our heavy cavalry during the battle. Let me take on their cavalry, and I shall bring you back the head of Mad Jack. I’ll hoist it on a pike, that the wild beasts might see it.”

A smile appeared on his father’s lips -a proud smile, he believed. “Very well, Navna. The command is yours.”

Dava returned his smile, standing up straighter.

“Now, to the strategy,” Namtar said.

The Archmaster placed the large map of the area on top of the documents. A long discussion ensued; it was mostly Namtar speaking, of course, with the lieutenants occasionally offering suggestions or asking questions. With the enemy’s tactics known, it was relatively easy to devise a strategy for the upcoming battle. Small figures were placed on the map, then replaced as the strategy was refined further. Eventually, as the night’s early chill invited itself inside the tent, the Archdemon let out a sigh of satisfaction.

“All right, let us summarize,” Namtar said, his voice hoarse. “Our infantry and our archers will be placed on top of this large hill and on the slope opposite the enemy. I will be there as well, making sure the beasts can see me and my banner; the hill is tall enough that I’ll be out of their bows’ range. Their armies will deploy on both wings, to encroach us, their cavalry attempting to close the encirclement. That is when our own cavalry will enter the fray. It will be hidden behind the hill, so that the enemy won’t see it until it is too late.

“Navna, you will then engage the enemy cavalry, and destroy it. I will make sure their infantry’s attention is focused solely on our own infantry and on me, so you will likely have surprise on your side. Once that is done, our heavy cavalry will separate into two bodies. On my command, each will charge one of the enemy army’s wings, while our infantry charges as well. We have the advantage of numbers, and I fully intend to use it.”

He raised a finger in his son’s direction. “Understand that your role is of the utmost importance in all of this. I am trusting you to be the cornerstone of our strategy.”

“I will not disappoint you, father.”

“Good. Understand also that you must not attack the bulk of their forces before I give the order. It is paramount that the cavalry and the infantry engage simultaneously. These curs are savages, but they are not weak. They may be able to take us on separately, as they did before. We won’t give them the opportunity to do so.”

“I understand, father.”

Namtar gave a sharp nod. “One last thing.” He placed a purse filled with coins on the table. “Tell the soldiers I offer a bounty of five thousand nials to whoever will bring me the head of Alizana.”

“Sire, if I capture her alive, may I keep her?” another of Namtar’s lieutenants, Zerah, said with a smirk. “I have hounds at home I wish to breed.”

Two lieutenants erupted in laughter. Namtar shook his head, and rapped on the table to quiet them down.

“You may do as you wish,” he said. “There are another thousand nials for whoever slays Mad Jack.”

“That bounty will be mine, father,” Navna said proudly.

Of course, he didn’t need the coin, but he could always distribute it to those of his soldiers who would have proven themselves on the battlefield. This wasn’t about the monetary reward. Mad Jack was said to have killed a general of the Gold and Crimson Legion in a duel at Atvello. This would be an interesting fight, Navna thought. One the minstrels would sing about for generations.

Namtar ended the council, and dismissed everyone. Navna and his lieutenant returned to their camp. On the ride back, Navna noticed his lieutenant Govlig looked nervous. He asked him what was wrong.

“Oh, nothing much, sire,” Govlig said. He cleared his throat. “It’s just, ah… Well, I’ve heard the soldiers talk.”

“What about?”

“Some stories they’ve been discussing for a few days now. About the Vertrisian Forest. That place has a reputation in the South, it seems. People say it is cursed. Inhabited by Elves and Dryads, and protected by the magic of the forest spirits they worship.”

Spirits. Again, Navna did not consider himself a spiritual person, and did not believe in those spirits people -mostly peasants- talked about and sometimes made offerings to, to shield themselves or gain favors. He did believe in the Armilus, but mostly because had made it clear that if he wished to worship a god, it had better be that one. And he believed in magic, as well, possessing some talent for the Arcanes himself -though he was by no means an archmage.

“So what of it?” Navna said.

“Like I said, sire, it’s nothing much. But hearing that we will battle near the Vertrisian Forest has reminded me of a particular story they tell, about a spirit they call Leunnya. A dangerous spirit, rumor has it. One that is violently protective of its forest. They say many who have ventured in the woods uninvited have been killed, swiftly and without warning, by something resembling a loud thunder.”

The Archmaster’s son smiled derisively. Stories about spirits were often the same. Whether they were told in the South, or in the Silver Ridge, or even along the Opal Coast. The Empire, too, had stories like this one, no doubt.

“Well, we are not going to venture in that forest, merely near it.”

“I know. I know, sire. It’s just… Um, well…”

“Out with it, lieutenant.”

“They also say those wild creatures have pacted with the Vertrisian Elves. They say that’s how they found sanctuary inside the forest.”

“Good for them,” Navna said. “Why is that something for you to worry about, lieutenant?”

“Well, when they say these creatures found sanctuary, they mean that the spirits have granted their protection to them. Leunnya itself fights amongst them. If you believe those stories,” he added quickly.

“And do you?” Navna inquired.

Lieutenant Govlig came from Bronzeberth, the northernmost county of the Silver Ridge. The furthest away from civilization, they said. There was no town or city, merely a few villages, lowly populated and very spread out. The people there were known to be very superstitious, as rural folk are wont to be.

“I, ah, I thought back to the battle of Atvello,” Govlig said, noticeably dodging the question. “According to some of our soldiers there, there were Elves fighting alongside our enemy. So I have been wondering: if it is true that the Vertrisian Elves have allied themselves with the curs…”

He didn’t finish his thought.

Navna sighed. If it had been a mere soldier, he would have ordered him to put those thoughts out of his mind, and told him that soldiers of the Hexacracy mustn’t be swayed or intimidated by such silly rumors. But Govlig was his lieutenant, and the one he trusted the most. It was Navna himself who had promoted him, elevating him from the ranks.

“Those Elves were most likely mercenaries. Soldiers for hire abound in the Southern Marches, especially near Atvello. It’s possible they were from the Vertrisian Forest, but I doubt it. The tribes there are isolationists, according to our reports. During the first Southern War, they fought both the Hexacracy and the Empire, considering both to be invaders. Do you believe they would treat the beasts any differently?”

“I suppose not, sire. But, err, the Elves did let them find refuge in their forest.”

“What more proof do you need, then, that this forest isn’t cursed? It was probably a rumor propagated by the Elves themselves to keep invaders away. They’ll soon find it won’t protect them against us.”

“What do you mean, sire?”

“My father wants the threats of those curs dealt with thoroughly. After we eliminate their leaders and defeat their army at the valley of Baluq, we will no doubt have to comb that forest to cleanse it of the beasts.”

Govlig’s back stiffened as he heard that.

“By the Armilus, man!” Navna said, losing patience. “Haven’t I made this clear already? The only fear we know is the one we instill in our enemies.”

“Yes, sire,” Govlig said.

“I suggest you remember that, unless Dahrr’s fate is one you wish for yourself.”

“No, sire.”

“I should hope not. You have worked too hard for your rank to lose it. Before we end this conversation, I must ask: where do these stories even come from?”

“I do not know, sire. They have been spreading through our soldiers. I tried to find out who told them first, but nobody seemed to know.”

“Hmph. Well, if you do find that person -and I suggest you do-, cut their rations down to teach them about spreading cowardly rumors. And do let them know that, had they served in, say, the Legion or the warrior-monks, the punishment would have been far more severe.”

“Very well, sire.”

No more was said during the journey back, about forest spirits or anything else.

Two days later, Navna woke up even earlier than usual, almost a summer hour before the night guard blew the horn announcing the dawn. A great vigor carried him as he and his officers prepared the troops. Navna ordered the morning meal to be a bit more generous than usual, to ensure the soldiers would have the energy to power through the day. The knights in particular were allowed some beer to bolster their courage. After eating, the troops were assembled. Navna made sure his lieutenants double checked everything: the equipment, the weaponry, the horses, the horses’ armors… Nothing would be left to chance.

It was still early in the morning when the troops left camp, leaving behind about a hundred soldiers to defend it in case the curs were to try an assault during the battle. The chances were low, Navna and his father had judged, as most of the beasts would be in Baluq. It was not outside the realm of possibility, however, that a splinter group or perhaps a raid of bandits happened upon the camp and tried their luck.

The scouts led the army to Baluq swiftly. The place was fairly nondescript to Navna. A simple hilly plain, dotted with the occasional rock and very few trees, covered in high grass and flanked by a small forest on the western side. Nothing to distinguish it from the next land over, and the one next to that one. Nothing that could make it one of those famed battlefields he had been taught about, like Princevale or the Butcher’s Stream. whose epic descriptions sometimes covered entire pages. It was so nondescript in fact that Navna had the scout make sure it was the right place, but the arrival of his father’s army soon after made that redundant. Bah! he thought. I suppose it little matters what the landscape looks like. Our battle is what will make it legendary. We shall leave it to the historians to make up a fitting description.

Both armies joined north of that tall hill Namtar had described during the strategic meeting. It was indeed high enough to dominate the surroundings, and to ensure anyone on top of it would be out of bow’s range. Perfect for their ends. Above their heads, the sky was filled with thick, gray clouds. It was believed rain would fall either in the afternoon or in the evening, possibly bringing a thunderstorm with it.

“As planned, I will hold the hill,” Namtar said to the officers, gathered for a last-minute meeting. “The infantry will stand still for the first part of the battle. When they see me -and they will-, the enemy might try to charge; should that happen, the higher ground will give us an edge. Navna, you are to follow your orders even in that case. Focus on the enemy cavalry no matter what.

“When the first horn blows, our archers will shoot arrows at will upon the beasts’ ranks, while hidden behind our infantry. The beasts will raise their shields to protect themselves -barbaric as they are, they are not entirely stupid-, which will limit their field of vision. Between the arrows and my presence, their focus will be solely on the front. At the signal, our heavy cavalry will charge on the western wing. The enemy infantry shall be too busy to even notice as their cavalry is engaged and destroyed. With a bit of luck, they’ll not even see our own cavalry flanking them on both sides, turning their strategy against them, until it is too late.”

He retrieved his riding gloves from his belt and put them on. “I’ll say again: follow your orders, each and every one of you. The day will be ours, this I promise you, but only if you all do your duty. The curs will try some underhand tactics to get you to break rank, no doubt, and compromise us all. I expect you to remain steadfast. I believe it unnecessary to remind you what happens to those who show disobedience in battle.”

Several lieutenants, including Herig and Govlig, nodded sharply. “No, Archmaster,” they said.

Namtar turned to his son.

“I will do as you say, father,” he said.

Namtar’s stomach pain soothed a little. He had trouble with this organ ever since the shocking defeat at Atvello. Later, his “conversation” with Elyonn had turned it from simply being unsettled to actually painful. His healer’s concoctions had barely helped, but he knew what cure would work. This battle had to be won. It had to. If ever the creatures continued their rampage, or if ever another of the Six learned of their real nature…

The Archmaster nodded to his son, who then turned his ride around and went down the hill to meet with the assembling cavalry. He watched him go, passing a hand over his stomach, trying to soothe it further through the chainmail. The tinge of pride he felt helped in that regard. Navna, once an unruly, lazy, cantankerous boy, had become a man, obedient and loyal. Namtar still wasn’t certain that young man could ever be a good Archmaster, but it was a start, a very promising start.

One of Namtar’s scouts arrived minutes later, as the troops were taking their positions. The enemy warriors had been spotted, coming from the south and southeast. Their numbers were confirmed to be around twelve hundred, to Namtar’s twenty-one hundred. The Archmaster watched them as they formed what looked like an uneducated man’s idea of ranks. Their formations were loose, and it seemed their units -they seemed to have those at least- were more or less agglutinated together. The first line was equipped with tower shields, seemingly new; some of them looked like the ones used by Legionnaires, and had no doubt been recovered after the battle of Atvello. As predicted, their cavalry -two, maybe three hundred strong- assembled on the western flank. Good, good, Namtar thought.

With a pull on his reins, Namtar guided his horse in front of the first line of infantry, protected by a wall of shields. His flag-bearer followed suit. As he trotted before his men, he looked down in the valley, at the horde of canine warriors, trying to see if he could figure out which one was this Alizana who led them. Perhaps it was the distance, or the crude armors they wore, but he could see little difference between them. Even from afar, however, he could see his presence raised anger among them. He heard the incoherent rumbling of multiple voices shouting and yelling. Namtar toyed with the idea of giving them a little speech, to incense them further; anger would blind them more. But aside from the fact that it would be taking an additional risk -however small-, there was little chance any part of that speech could have been heard by them. He pulled on his reins again, and headed back.

A loud, cracking noise was heard. Thunder? Namtar thought. Is it raining al-

The Archdemon gasped. A terrible pain pierced him through the torso, as if something particularly sharp had struck him. He looked down, and saw a hole the size of his thumb in his chest plate. An arrow? He wondered, confused. A bolt? But where could-

The same noise rang again. This time, Namtar could almost swear he had seen something small and abnormally fast, coming roughly form the west, strike him in the right thigh. The leather of his pants had done little to slow, let alone stop, whatever missile this was, and it pierced him clean through before embedding itself in his horse’s flank. The horse whinnied in pain and fear, and buckled with enough strength to throw down his rider.

Dropping heavily to the ground, Namtar tried as hard as he could not to scream in pain. He felt his warm blood flood his chest and soak his leg. Lieutenant Herig and several of his men broke rank and rushed to him; one of them was almost trampled by the spooked horse. The Archdemon tried to stutter a command, but the pain in his chest was like a clawed grip on his lungs.

How could it be? The amulet… Azazel’s agent had shown him… A terrible thought came to his mind. Azazel! She had engineered this. That amulet was probably but a mere bauble imbued with magic, not destined to protect its wearer from anything. She had set him up to be killed, to protect the secret of the Hellhounds, and her contribution to it. And his son had the same! He had to- had to…

His vision blurred, his breathing ragged. The army’s healer was brought, but as he began unpacking his potions and poultices, Namtar knew it was too late. Already an ominous numbness had possessed his body. Gathering his very last forces, he tried to speak again. Herig leaned down to listen, almost touching the Archmaster’s lips with his ear. The lieutenant managed to make out the words “woods”, “trap”, and “son”, but the rest was too tortured to be audible. 

Down in the valley, the sounds of horns echoed. The mass of lupine warriors marched forward, while their cavalry galloped to the sides, moving to encircle the hill. Without delay, Herig demanded a horse, placed his sergeant in charge of the infantry, then rushed to Navna.

On the other side of the hill, the Archmaster’s son -or rather, the new Archmaster, though he little knew that- had heard the horns, followed by the grumbling of an army advancing, and the storm-like sounds of horses galloping.

“The enemy cavalry is coming,” he told Lieutenant Govlig. “You know what to do.”

“Yes, sire.”

Govlig shouted orders at his unit, and the knights and mercenaries prepared themselves. Navna was about to do the same, when he saw a rider gallop down the hill, screaming for his attention. He recognized him as Herig. His father’s lieutenant looked pale, and as he got closer, Navna noticed blood on his riding gloves.

“Your father!” Herig shouted, his voice strangled by shock.

“What’s happened?” Navna said, sensing the blood leaving his cheeks.

“Your father,” he repeated. He took a deep breath. “Your father has been killed!”

“Killed!” Navna yelled. “How?!”

“I’ve no idea, sire. There were noises like the crack of thunder, and suddenly he was bleeding.”

“The crack of thunder?” Govlig repeated.

Navna frowned in anger and confusion. What could have done it? He had not sensed any magic being used. It had to be a normal weapon, but what kind? His father was wearing a good suit of armor, only a crossbow bolt could have pierced it. And what about the amulet? The beasts knew nothing of magic, and even if they did, they surely wouldn’t have been able to overpower the Archlady!

“His horse fled, and he fell,” Herig continued. “By the Armilus, we tried to help. The healer couldn’t… So much blood… He said… He said…”

Navna grabbed the officer’s arm and shook him. “Grab a hold of yourself, man! What did my father say?”

“He… He spoke of the forest; that’s where the attack came from, we think. He spoke of a trap. He said to warn you.”

Navna gazed at the small forest west of the hill, his blood boiling in his veins. Of course the beasts would try to get the son like they got the father. They probably thought… A dark chuckle resonated in his throat. Another dirty little trick, eh? he thought. Somewhat clever, I must admit. Perhaps that Mad Jack came up with it. From what I heard say, the man had well earned his nickname. He probably expected Navna to abandon the battlefield, and to rush into that forest to get revenge on his father’s murderer. Yes, clever. But wrong, so wrong. Navna would not betray his father’s trust by leaving his post. He would keep to the strategy, and he would gain the day, slaughtering the curs’ army to the last bitch as he did. That was how he would get his revenge. Hmm. But the murderer might try again… I can’t have that at my back as I charge the enemy.

“Govlig, take ten knights and scour that forest,” he ordered. “Bring me back whoever killed my father. The man himself or just his head, it does not matter.”

“Sire?” Govlig said. There was fear in his voice again.

“Do it!” Navna said. “Now!”

“But… Sire, don’t you think… This is Leunnya?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Navna exploded. “I’ve had enough of your superstitions. This is no spirit. I don’t know what manner of weapon killed my father, but I know the one holding it is made out of flesh and blood. Get me the head of my father’s killer, or by the Armilus I’ll have yours instead!” He pointed to Herig. “You’ll be leading his unit in his stead. Prepare to charge on my command.”

Both lieutenants acknowledged his orders, and rode off, Herig to the rest of the cavalry, Golvig to the forest. Navna clung to his reins, his hands shaking with rage. But he waited. He had to wait. Although his blood was urging him to charge now, he gathered all of his patience and waited for the signal. He observed the hill, waiting for it. By the sounds of it, the archers had begun shooting arrows at the enemy. The beasts’ infantry had reached the foot of the hill. It wouldn’t be long now…

The signal came, in the form of three blows of a horn accompanied by the raising of two red flags. The scouts were informing them that the enemy’s cavalry had reached the side of the hill, moving in to encircle the army. Navna shouted the order, and the nearly six hundred knights and mercenaries unfurled. The ground trembled under their hooves as they picked up speed. Those armed with spears lowered them, those armed with swords raised them. Navna was riding in the second line; his father’s orders, once again: a commander never rides in the front, nor in the back.

In his childhood and until his late twenties, Lieutenant Govlig used to make daily prayers and monthly sacrifices to no less than fifteen spirits. Five spirits of the earth, five spirits of the air, and five spirits of the water. Those were the spirits worth worshiping, his mother had taught him, but not the only ones. There were also the spirits of the ocean, those of the mountains, and those of the forests. Those, his mother said, were not worthy of worship, as they were too wild and too mad; one might as well worship a charging boar or an angry bear, she said.

Ever since he had become a soldier, Govlig had made efforts to distance himself from his former beliefs, in no small part because they had made him a target for mockery. The Hexacrat armies, in their majority, believed in the Armilus, the powerful god in mortal form who would end the Tyranny, not in spirits that lived in rocks and ponds. Another reason for this change of faith was General Navna, the man who had made him a lieutenant, who was not fond of those beliefs either. Govlig respected General Navna, and not just because of his rank or his status as the Archmaster’s son and heir apparent.

Yet, as Govlig entered the small patch of woods, he was badly tempted to pray as devoutly as he could to whatever spirit inhabited those trees. Might inhabit those trees. He took a deep breath. It couldn’t have been… No, it couldn’t have been. Navna, his general, had clearly said that whatever killed the Archmaster was a creature of flesh and blood, and Navna knew of the Arcanes. The idea that Navna might have lied to him to keep from causing fear came to his mind for a moment, but he discarded it.

Flesh and blood, he repeated to himself, flesh and blood. He and the knights rode through the forest, weapons in hand, their eyes shifting from left to right, and from top to bottom. They had spread out enough to comb the woods while still being in eyesight. As Govlig had pointed out when they reached the treeline, the killer, whatever they were, could have been anywhere. Every bush, every depression, every large branch was a potential hideout. Perspiration irritated the lieutenant’s chest underneath his gambeson. Flesh and blood.

His heart jumped in his chest when the crack of thunder was heard yet again, spooking one of the horses. Govlig summoned all of his courage to not let fear overcome him. The sound was followed by something resembling a heavy weight being dropped, then by a shout:

“Manzig! Manzig is dead!”

“The noise!” another knight said. “Where did it come from?”

Someone pointed in a direction, and though his gesture lacked confidence, two men rushed there. Their swords slashed a bush apart, revealing nothing but its small trunk. One of them claimed he saw footprints on the ground, but the other said it looked more like pawprints.

Another thunderous sound. This time, a horse was struck clean through the throat. The destrier fell to his side, crushing his rider’s leg under his weight. The knight screamed in pain.

“Where? Where?” one of the knights shouted, hysterical.

“Show yourself, you fucking coward!” another said as he destroyed another bush.

Flesh and blood, flesh and blood. The mantra barely helped at this point. Golvig was now sweating profusely, his hands were fidgeting, and his mind was conjuring terrible thoughts. Flesh and blood! Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn’t Leunnya hunting them like so many rabbits. But so what? It could be that, although mortal, this hunter was using some sort of magic, one so obscure even Navna ignored its existence. Weren’t the Elves known to harbor such old magical secrets? If it was so, what could Golvig do?

The invisible lightning struck a third time. A knight screamed as his throat cried red. Golvig screamed as well, but in fear. The sound had come from a place near him, very near. Or at least, that was how it seemed at the moment. Golvig couldn’t be sure, because the very next second, he had launched his horse at full speed, headed towards the treeline. He had no idea where he was going, and he didn’t care. His mind, overflowing with terror, had no room left for coherent thoughts. Several knights shouted at him, naming him a yellow belly, but the ringing in his ear was louder.

Moments later, a few archers on the western flank noticed three or four knights riding out of the small forest. Reinforcements? they wondered. But no, they were running away from the battlefield. They were deserting? By the Armilus! First, the Archmaster dies of some strange attack, then parts of the nobility deserts the battlefield. Was the battle lost, before it had even begun? The rumor spread through the ranks like a wave. Several officers heard it, and clamped down on it. Nothing was lost, they said. The Archmaster’s son, their new ruler, still lived. The death of one man did not mean the battle was lost. He was fighting alongside the heavy cavalry at this very moment. How dare his loyal soldiers mock his efforts by spreading defeatist rumors? How dare they not want revenge for their fallen sovereign, killed by treachery?

Down the hill, Navna, still riding hard, had also noticed the knights –his knights!- fleeing, Golvig among them. Muttering a hundred curses and a thousand threats, he made a promise to later track them and brand them as deserters himself. But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was that the enemy cavalry was now in sight. Their riders had formed two large lines; no doubt they would try to envelop the Hexacrat knights. Oh, they could try, if they wished. It wouldn’t make a difference. A dangerous smirk on his lips, the young general ordered his men to hasten the pace and tighten their ranks; the hammer would strike hard.

Navna peeled his eyes when he saw the enemy’s center and tried to gather what weapons they were using. The ones on the wings were using bows and spears, but what were those? They looked too black in color to be swords, but were too short to be spears. Maces, then? No, the way they were holding them-

All of a sudden, one of the mercenaries fell off his horse. Within a moment, four -no!- three others and two knights followed him, along with two other horses. Not a second later, the knight immediately to the right of Navna screamed in pain, and bent forward, holding his shoulder. What in the world was happening? Most of these men had had their shield raised to protect themselves from any archers, and anyway there were no arrows. Nor any spears or any rocks, for that matter. And once again, he could feel no magic being used. Was that how they had murdered his father?

It took only seconds for the order within the heavy cavalry’s ranks to turn into confusion, and a few seconds more to turn into chaos. Everyone, both at the front and the rear, quickly noticed the losses in their ranks, who grew exponentially as they neared the enemy. As they got within one hundred and fifty yards, fifteen, maybe twenty men and horses died in the blink of an eye. Their death was accompanied by a myriad of sounds no one could identify, but which several men linked to that of thunder.

Right in front of Navna, a horse was wounded on the breast, near the neck, and went mad. He turned tail, and charged right in front of him with white-hot fear; his rider fell of the saddle with a loud thud. Navna barely had time to pull his reins to the right to avoid the collision. The fear that had possessed that horse was also present in many of his men, he could sense it. He shouted at them, trying to reinvigorate their discipline, but his voice could only be heard at a short distance over the cacophony of metal as men dropped left and right, mowed by an unseen threat.

The mercenaries were the first to balk, predictably. Namtar and Navna had placed most of them on the right wing, opposite the hill. They saw an opening through the hills and, under the command of a superior officer, some forty of them pulled on their reins and rode away at triple gallop. The enemy didn’t seem to bother chasing or killing any of them.

When less than a hundred yards was left between the two armies, the enemy, as Navna had predicted, separated into two wings to try and dodge the charge. In response, Navna signaled his horn-blower to redirect the charge, so as to engage first the wing on the right. The order was sent, but only followed by about half of the knights and remaining mercenaries. The rest kept on charging ahead.

Navna made a frantic hand gesture to his horn-blower, commanding him to send the order anew. As the sound of the horn resonated in the air again, Navna’s horse Fulgance was hit. The side of the mare’s head seemed to explode in a red mist, some warm liquid spraying Navna’s eyes through the slit in his helmet.

The next thing Navna knew, he was lying on the ground, bells ringing in his head, the entire left side of his body bruised. He murmured the words of an Arcane spell he knew would help him overcome the pain, then promptly got back on his feet, picking up his mace as he did. His shield, thankfully, was still attached to his wrist. Around him, horsemen were riding in all directions, friends and foes. All semblance of order was now long gone. 

Something terribly hot seized the inside of his throat. How could this have happened? They had an excellent strategy, the best knights of the Silver Ridge, good horses, and even some of the most expensive mercenaries around. On paper, the battle was an easy win. Yet, before it had even started, everything had gone wrong, as if the Armilus himself had decided against their victory today. Navna laughed bitterly at that last thought. 

“I’m beginning to think like that coward Golvig!” he said, his thoughts spilling out of his mouth along with a bit of blood -he had bit his tongue in his fall. “But I will not behave like him. I will not run. Do you hear me? I will not run!”

Those last words had been yelled, so loud they dominated the tumult. Navna looked up the hill, which was some three hundred yards away. The infantry and the archers were still there, their attention focused on the front as the enemy had nearly reached them. Navna noticed the curs’ infantry lines were stretching as if to… to envelop their enemy! Hidden behind a wall of shields, the warriors were moving sideways, ignoring the arrows the archers rained on them.

Had this been their real strategy all along? Navna wondered. But then, what about those plans they had found? A trick! he realized. Another trick. That Mad Jack is a cunning bastard. But the battle was not over, he decided. The encirclement was only two lines thick, and not yet complete. If he rallied the infantry and ordered them to punch through the enemy’s ranks, they could still make use of their numerical superiority. He could separate the enemy infantry in two halves, and destroy them one by one. Yes, that could work!

Navna took off running as best he could, in spite of the weakness in his left ankle, which was strained and possibly even broken. A horse was killed by a spear near him, and he had to jump to his left to avoid being crushed. Then, an enemy rider -either a Human or an Elf, he couldn’t quite tell- changed directions, and charged him. Navna reacted faster, getting out of the way and striking one of his horse’s legs with his mace in one swift move. The rider dropped hard with a cracking noise that was either his spine or his neck. With a victorious grin, Navna resumed his run. 

The hill’s foot was now no more than over one hundred yards away. But before he could reach it, another rider appeared before him, blocking his way. It was one of the wild beasts, looking oversized in comparison to its horse. Surprisingly, it didn’t attack straight away, choosing instead to dismount.

“You are the Archmaster’s son,” it said, her small, dark red eyes looking down at his tabard. 

The creature wore some sort of armor made out of hides patched together. It had no weapon and no shield. A little C-shaped scar marred the skin near its right eye.

“My name is Navna,” he said, “and you’re in my way.”

That made the cur laugh. It took a fighting stance, raising its monstruous paws, claws extended towards Navna. The young general responded in kind, holding up his shield and arming his mace. He let the beast attack first, to gauge its speed and its skill. Both were rather impressive. The lupine creature moved quickly, and its attacks were precise. So much so that Navna couldn’t avoid them, and had to use his shield to protect himself. Before he could, however, the creature’s claws managed to damage his armor, cutting open his gorget with a couple of slashes. Thankfully, his throat was left intact. He counterattacked by bashing his shield against his enemy, who tried to block with its forearm.

The beast went back on the offensive immediately, her claws striking again and again on the steel barrier, not giving Navna a single opportunity to attack. Navna initially thought it would tire itself out quickly, but the creature was very enduring. Unlike his shield arm, whose muscles were getting fatigued. At this rate, his enemy would overcome his defenses quickly. He had to get creative.

Dropping his mace, which remained attached to his wrist by a strap, he whispered the words of an Arcane. Flames sprouted from his gloved palm, and he threw them at his enemy. The beast shrieked as it was struck on the side of its face and its neck. Its fur caught on fire, and the flames quickly spreaded, making the beast scream louder. Without waiting a second, Navna took the offensive, grabbing his mace again and raising it high in the air, moving to strike the beast’s head with a powerful vertical attack. He would finish the creature quickly; a mercy it didn’t deserve, but Navna was in a hurry.

The attack missed by quite a few inches. Navna had suddenly lost his balance, at the same moment he had felt something sting him through the left knee. Surprised, he looked down to see a lot of blood pouring down his greave. A great weakness possessed his leg, and he fell again, just about managing to break his fall with his forearm. In the corner of his eye, he saw someone, a Human, rush to the still burning creature, and pour water out of a gourd over its head. The flames were doused, though it took the entire contents of the gourd. The creature was down on its knees, holding its head. Navna chuckled weakly, noticing that its scar was now no longer discernible.

The young general tried to stand up again, putting all of his weight on his right leg. The Human turned to him. He was wearing a full suit of armor, along with a black iron helmet; a small shield was tied to his right wrist.

“Stay down!” he ordered, pointing some queer black object towards him. It looked like the ones several of the enemy horsemen were holding, but short enough to be used with one hand instead of two.

Ignoring him, Navna grunted in pain -the Arcane he had summoned was fading-, pushed on his valid foot, and raised from the ground. The Human pointed the black object at his wounded leg, and something seemed to come out of it, quicker than lightning. An intolerable pain shot through Navna’s calf, who nevertheless managed to keep standing.

“Signal your men,” the Human said again. “Order their surrender. In trade, I promise to spare you and your men.”

Navna snarled. “You must be Mad Jack. And this must be what you used to murder my father!” He had spat those last words.

“Your father, along with many of your knights. The day is lost, general, but your life may not be. Drop your weapon and signal your men.”

The general coughed out a laugh. “Just like that? I think not. At Atvello, you defeated the Legion’s general in a duel.”

“That’s not really what happened.”

“Well, if you want my surrender, you’ll defeat me in a duel.”

“You’re wounded.”

“Then this should be a fair fight to you,” Navna said.

Mad Jack tutted.

“So be it,” he said.

He raised his odd weapon, pointing it this time at Navna’s face. Navna hid behind his shield, then rushed towards Mad Jack. Two small holes appeared in the steel in quick succession; thankfully, the missiles didn’t breach the protection of his helmet. The second, however, seemed to shatter in pieces, one of which struck him in the eye through the slit. But he was beyond caring now. Beyond pain, beyond reason. All that mattered to him was that Mad Jack was in his reach. Mad Jack managed to block his mace with his own shield, though not without a pained grunt. Navna thought he’d retaliate with his weapon, but in actuality he did so by kicking the Demon in his wounded leg. He lost his balance with a strangled cry, the ground greeting him right in his bruises. Before he could stand up once more, Mad Jack planted a foot on his leg wound, and pressed down. The agony fueling his anger, Navna threw his mace at him with a furious roar. Mad Jack deflected the improvised projectile with his shield, but this proved a sufficient distraction to get him off. Soon, the two opponents were facing each other again.

“You’re losing a lot of blood,” Mad Jack pointed out. “A few more minutes and your leg will be lost.”

“I only need one moment to kill you,” Navna retorted, pulling out a dagger from his belt.

This was mere bravado, and he knew it. In truth, he was dizzied from the combined effect of the pain, the fatigue, and the blood loss. He was seeing double, his eyelids were heavy, and there was an acute whistling sound in his left ear. Yet, he still wouldn’t give up. There was still a chance, and he had to take it. Nothing else mattered.

He attacked with his dagger, in quick thrusts aimed at the parts of his enemy’s body that weren’t covered by his armor. Mad Jack parried, dodged, or deflected. Then, his armed hand went to strike with the lower part of his odd weapon, at the bottom of Navna’s exposed throat. This made him stumble back, holding his throat and gasping for breath. He dropped to his knees, his gasps turning to strained coughing. Mad Jack kicked the dagger out of his hand.

“I believe I won that duel,” he said. “Now, order your men to surrender.”

Navna glared up at him through his helmet. His throat prevented him from swearing back at the Human. With a groan, he removed his helmet, as if to help recover his breath. He knew he had enough strength left in his body for one Arcane, although it would strain him. The question was which one he would use. He could send colored flames in the air, so as to order his men to surrender. But then, he could also use those very flames against a target, one which looked very tempting right now. That little internal debate could be read on his face, it seemed, as Mad Jack pointed his weapon at Navna’s forehead, so close it could almost touch it.

“Order them to surrender, general,” he repeated.

Navna clenched his teeth, and roared with anger between them. Then, he threw his hand up in the air, and mumbled the proper words. Unnaturally red flames sprouted from his palm, shouting some fifty feet in the air where they danced for a short minute before disappearing. Seconds after they had appeared, the noises of battle on the hill were covered by the sounds of horns ordering the troops to stop fighting.

The young general stared at the ground before him, unable to lift his head and watched the men under his command surrender to the monstrous creatures. He had failed. He had failed his men. He had failed his father. Now, he was to be made prisoner by these monsters. Who knew what they would do to him? Sure, they might try to trade him for a ransom at first, but the only person in Varda who would pay it was lying dead on that very battlefield. The other Archdemons wouldn’t give a single nial for him. As to the Silver Ridge, which for a moment had been his, it would soon find itself another Archmaster, likely one installed by another Archdemon and under their influence. That was, unless the land wouldn’t simply be annexed by an Archdemon, likely Elyonn.

He had failed. Failed his father, failed Elyonn, failed himself. Failed, failed, failed. The word echoed in his skull. He had failed, and there was nothing left for him. Nothing but the Abyss. He embraced it.

The words dripped from his lips before he even realized he was saying them. The energy they would demand would drain his body and his soul past the limit, but that was no longer important. It would be the furthest thing away from painless, but that didn’t matter anymore either. He placed his hands around his bruised throat, and finished the casting.

***

“Shit, shit! Goddamnit!” Jackson screamed.

Having regained control of his body immediately after Byron relinquished it, he put away his pistol and rushed to the general. In the blink of an eye, his head had caught on fire like a macabre torch. Jackson tried his gourd again, but he had emptied it completely on Grabs-the-Blades -and in vain, too. He tried throwing some dirt from the ground, but the flames were too strong. The skin of Navna’s face blackened, and gashes appeared in it. His lips crumpled like old parchment, and his eyes… Jackson slapped a hand over his mouth. His eyes were looking straight at him. The general was still alive!

With a shrug and a good amount of nausea, Jackson turned away, letting the fool burn alive for all he cared. He had considered jamming his sword in the general’s throat to end this pointless suffering, but then, he had remembered Grabs-the-Blades. He glanced at the corpse of his fallen friend, bile rising in his esophagus, and decided that, no, the general didn’t deserve mercy. And after all, this was the fate he himself had chosen.

Jackson approached the cadaver of Gr- of Tayna, and knelt down beside it. It was a hard sight, but this time he forced himself to watch. Half of her face had been devoured by the fire, along with a good portion of her neck, and even the top of her shoulder. The flames had consumed her skin and even her flesh, down to the bone; Jackson nearly emptied his stomach when he saw her fangs through what was once her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered to her.

He recovered her assault rifle, which she was wearing across her back, then placed her paws over her chest. Then, he turned to the hill, which was now alive with shouts of victory. Before he went to join his people up there, he cast one last look at Tayna, and promised himself he would never forget those to whom he owed that victory.

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