The Bloody Harvest
The thunderous sound of clashing metal and the piercing cries of combatants filled the air. Blade and lance sliced through the air, striking helmet and armor with bone-crunching force.
A knight was thrown from his horse, crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. Blood gushed from his mangled helmet, splattering the polished surface of his armor. In contrast to the unmoving master, the riderless horse bolted out of control.
Anci, the victor, proceeded without care. He had just bested another knight. Decked in white brigandine and bascinet helmet, he pressed his mount to pick up the pace.
Cavalry skirmish was a swift, but brutal exchange of blows, with riders passing each other in quick succession, before circling back for another round. However, Anci’s objective today wasn’t cavalry supremacy, but to capture the enemy leader.
Driven by the promise of a large bounty, his Midlandia-trained riders had bravely clashed against the opponent’s right wing. Against all odds, their fifty light cavalry prevailed and were now aiming for their opponent’s rear, where Lord Robert’s personal banner was spotted.
This turned the fighting into chaos as half of Lord Robert’s reserve scrambled to block the invader’s cavalry advances.
Anci smiled at the opponent's reaction. He relished the opportunity for more fights. Officially, he had only agreed to join this mission because Lansius had pleaded with him to come. The former clerk, now a fake knight, had convinced him that there would be a great battle, complete with knights to capture. Lansius had said he needed Anci to co-command the cavalry.
However, even for a glory-seeker like Anci, jumping into a fight in Lowlandia wasn't an attractive prospect. He regarded Lowlandia with a healthy dose of skepticism. Its knights were generally poor, and a fight without the potential for ransom held little interest for him.
What ultimately persuaded him to join were Lord Arte's wishes for him to make a name for himself, his own innate love for violence, and the sizable payment that Lansius had offered him to safeguard the commander.
The rhythmic pounding of the horses' hooves echoed across the open plain. Shouting through his visor, Anci ordered, "FORM UP ON THE COMMANDER!" He had spotted Audrey, the one individual he had sworn to protect.
Anci’s riders obeyed and tried to reform their formation. Anci urged his mount forward. Its powerful muscles rippled beneath its glistening skin under the hot summer sun.
In the distance, the enemy cavalry loomed, a dark, foreboding wall blocking their path. The air was thick with tension and filled with the sound of clinking armor as the two similarly numbered sides charged toward each other.
But equally, they were not. The Midlandians had spent their lances against Lord Robert’s right-wing. Their horses were tired, and not all of them had emerged unscathed.
Meanwhile, Lord Robert’s reserve was as fresh as ever, clad in their polished plate cuirasses.
The Midlandians’ side was also disorganized. They had yet to fully form a cohesive formation. Despite all this, they fearlessly charged into the opponent’s deadly embrace. However, at the critical moment, Audrey led her fifteen riders to execute a sharp right turn.
It was so masterfully done that the enemy’s heavier cavalry failed to catch her move. As they turned to intercept her, the enemy left their right flank vulnerable, and that was when Anci’s riders joined for an onslaught.
“Nyahaha!” A sickening laughter was followed by a flash of a metallic object that cleaved through the wind in a giant, powerful swing. With a loud metallic clang, one knight crashed to the ground after Anci’s broadsword connected with his arms and pauldron.
The hardened iron skin was merely dented, but the victim’s arm was mangled, and he struggled to crawl himself to safety.
Audrey’s riders had deftly dodged the enemy and lured them into Anci’s trap. The alpha of the pack grinned devilishly at Audrey’s success, as his riders wreaked havoc upon the enemy’s ranks. Anci had marked a new prey, an astute rider who happened to cross his path.
The marked man, a stalwart knight by appearance, noticed Anci’s approach and reacted accordingly. Within seconds, they closed the gap between them, Fate dictating that they would pass on their left side. The knight raised his lance without hesitation, preparing to strike. Meanwhile, Anci kept shouldering his broadsword confidently.
When they were but a lance’s distance apart, Anci leaped into action. He put all his weight on the left stirrup, extended his body to the side, and with a lightning-quick motion, slammed the incoming lance with his broadsword.
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The lance wobbled out of the way but didn’t break, sending splinters flying between them as the knight and his stead struggled to balance themselves.
Anci’s horse swerved, nearly throwing him off balance as he came alongside his opponent. They locked eyes from their visored helmets. In jousting, this would have marked the end of the round, but Anci wasn’t finished. In that brief moment, the young squire wrestled control of his sword, twisted his body to face the passing knight, and unleashed the sharp metal into the knight’s back.
A dull clang rang through the air as the tip of Anci’s sword made contact with the knight’s back plate. Though the knight's back plate wasn't broken, he was not entirely immune to the impact. The knight continued to ride as if unharmed, but astonishingly dropped his sword and crouched lifelessly in his saddle.
An additional dent had been etched on the tip of Anci’s sword. He had been using them hard like a blunt mace. His horse made noises as if complementing his master’s latest win. He grinned and patted his horse while suppressing tremendous pain from his torso.
Bah, I shouldn’t twist it that much!
Groaning, Anci scanned the surroundings and found no immediate threats as the enemy was turning around wide to give chase. He counted his riders and found only twenty-seven, including himself and Audrey; the rest were either injured, dismounted, or dead.
Even Anci, an excellent rider by anyone’s standards, had been dismounted during the early battle. But as any seasoned cavalryman knew, being dismounted was far from the end. He simply whistled to call his horse and rejoined the fight.
Including the last one, Anci had bested eight riders, but not without paying the price. Part of his brigandine had been torn by a lance, and his left shoulder was swollen from the fall. His right arm was lacerated, and the coat of steel plates inside his brigandine couldn’t protect him completely from the lance’s attack. Even without penetration, a rib or two was broken, making breathing painful.
He lamented about not purchasing a cuirass, but he had an eye on something else. As Anci continued to press forward, Audrey began to slow down.
Anci caught up with her. “Change of plan?” he asked, opening his visor and slowing down to a trot.
“Anci, we’ve done it,” Audrey exclaimed.
“Huh, isn’t the goal to capture the Viscount?”
“Not necessarily. Lans said if we forced The Lion out, then it’s already a win for us.”
“Ah, fkin good!” Anci grinned widely. “I’m still in shape, but my horse needs rest. Then shall we?”
Audrey nodded. “Yes, let’s pull back and regroup.”
Anci let out another groan as he unconsciously twisted his injured torso to reach for the saddlebag. After a few tries, he finally found what he was looking for; a brass circular object. With a gentle nudge of his foot, he coaxed his horse to turn around.
Lifting the mini buccina, Anci blew into the mouthpiece, producing a distinctive sound that he repeated twice. Instantly, every surviving cavalryman began to move in one direction.
The opposing cavalry was in pursuit but weighed down by their heavy plate armor. Their horses were exhausted and unable to keep up with Audrey’s forces, who were lighter.
Equipped only with ringmails, brigandines, and a few cuirasses, despite having less expensive warhorses, Audrey’s cavalry was able to outrun the enemy.
This had been their tactic from the start. Initially, Audrey and Anci committed their cavalry to battle, only to then switch to evasion, tiring the enemy's heavy cavalry into a chase. Their light cavalry was controlling the tempo and maintaining the initiative.
Meanwhile, the main battle between Michael’s center column and Lansius’ ragtag army in the trenches raged on.
***
Banner of the Unknown
The sound of fighting was deafening in the trenches. A messenger shouted repeatedly to get Lansius’ attention, “Sir, a message from Master Calub.”
“What did he say?” Lansius yelled back.
“Traps are working. We’re holding,” the skinny messenger reported.
“Do you have anything from Sir Justin?” Lansius asked as he put his weight on his right foot to keep the crossbow’s metal stirrup down while he drew the string with both hands, effectively priming the mechanism.
“There’s so much fighting. We haven’t been able to,” he reported while kneeling behind Lansius.
“You hear that?” Lansius yelled at Hugo.
“I’m a bit busy here!” Hugo replied as he fended off a knight with his sword. Earlier, his poleaxe had been broken in a vicious fight.
Lansius faced the messenger. “Go to Sir Justin. Tell him we’re holding.”
“That’s all, Sir?” he asked in between the sounds of swearing and frequent metal-to-metal clashes that echoed through the underground trench.
“Go,” Lansius confirmed, loading a bolt into his weapon and taking aim.
“Left, left!” he shouted to anyone in front of him. Meanwhile, the messenger disappeared behind his men and into the other side of the trenches.
Hugo quickly ducked to the left, and Lansius squeezed the lever trigger, causing the string’s release to echo violently in his hands. The wooden shaft hurtled towards its target, exploding upon impact against the knight’s breastplate and sending wooden shrapnel flying.
The victim staggered and fell backward, a steel-tipped bolt protruding from his breastplate. His side attempted to evacuate their fallen comrade, while another knight squeezed to take his place. However, the narrow and confined trenches made movement difficult, particularly in heavy plate armor, and the slippery red clay ground only made it worse.
Hugo got up from his kneeling position. He had been shielding his face from being peppered by wooden shrapnel, of which a few dislodged in his ringmail. He charged at the unprepared opponent alongside another squire and made a bloody result.
In contrast to the attackers, Lansius’ men had come prepared by tying ropes onto their footwear, providing them with much-needed traction for work and fighting in trenches. Meanwhile, the knights in their sabatons struggled to move without slipping on the slick, clay-like ground.
With all this advantage and preparation, Lansius’ smaller force had miraculously managed to hold their ground against the larger, better-armed opponent, but they were left utterly exhausted. Unable to press for dominance.
As the bitter and bloody struggle continued, everything hung in the balance, and the slightest shift could tip the scale in either side’s favor.
***