"My lord?"
Holden Cross, still wary from the meeting he just left, glanced around the table in his command tent as the acknowledgement came from the Warden. She was waiting with his other contingent leaders - reduced to Stone, Davis, and Vorena as the others were reassigned to different elements of the army.
They were camped not far from Tholen, poised to attack. They would march the rest of the morning, and be ready to strike when they arrived. It was the last push for Ashfeld: if they won, all that would remain were scattered bands and holdouts that could be destroyed at will.
"We are to move out soon," Holden answered as he took his place and pointed his finger at the map on the table, running it along the route they would take. Hills and woodland along the road, but nothing particularly dense and it opened up into clearings multiple times. "Lord Truffe is moving ahead to sweep the road with his heavy foot and set up the ground for our artillery. With Lord Guy's heavy cavalry, he should be able to sweep aside any pickets."
Davis chuckled. "I bet d'Aemelianus is furious at serving under Beelzebul's command."
Holden shrugged. "We go where we're ordered to go. Leon's men are with him, so they are reinforced."
"What about other legions?" Joyeuse asked as she pointed towards the map's west side. "The Gryphon and Visage Legions were reconstituting their ranks during the Siege of Savona, and we already have some of their numbers in our ranks. That would be at least another six hundred legionnaires to support us."
"They're days away," the Lawbringer shook his head. "And even if they got here in time, those two are bringing green recruits to replace losses from Harrowgate. The fighters they could have recruited are in our auxiliaries right now, if they haven't gone home already."
"And the rumors about other splinter legions in the south," Stone weighed in as he folded his arms. "Those lordlings have always been wind vanes, but the threat of the Vikings kept them from going too far."
"Most who joined are still with us," Joy countered. "They chose to see it to the end."
"Maybe, but once the Vikings are gone…"
Holden simply nodded as the Conqueror left the implication in the air: it echoed his own thoughts. He was supposed to stay in the south for a bit longer in the original campaign plan, to spend time pacifying and making sure the local lordlings knew who was in command. The Warborn massing in Tholen as they had accelerated the timetable to the point where that was infeasible.
Put it aside for now, he told himself. "Regardless, with the situation it is likely this battle will be that of the Blackstone Legion alone. We've been preparing for this for a long time and now, today, we finally live up to our founding."
He looked to each of them, keeping his expression hardened. "I know each of you and the legionnaires we lead are up to the task. Today, we end the Warborn occupation of Ashfeld once and for all, and send them to their gods in awe of our armored might."
Pushing himself off the table, he turned to grab his poleaxe. "Now let's go win the war!"
XXXXX
If the Blackstones were going to win the war, they really needed to work on opening the endgame.
Though given the circumstances of how he joined the Blackstone Legion, Stone decided he really couldn't complain. Especially since like Harrowgate, the Warborn were hurling a huge amount of stuff into the fight. And the Blackstones had a full view of it from the downward slope they stood at the top of.
Their forward force, some six hundred infantry led by Beelzebul, had managed to avoid being ambushed as far as he could tell. The battle was on the road overlooked by a small farming village at the top of a hill nearby on the other end of some light woods, though it was too far to factor into the battle, at least at the moment. The Blackstone Legion was caught on all three sides, with the center being pushed in slowly and the flanks giving ground with it in an effort to maintain cohesion.
Some of the artillery train had managed to deploy, particularly the smaller pieces like the scorpion ballistas, and even one of the larger engines managed to set up. That mangonel was was lobbing whatever it could at the enemy - including several Warborn corpses based on the most recent launch as they entered view. Those landed smack into the advancing shield wall that was pushing forward, but the center of the Warborn line was opening from the back as another group moved in.
"Truffe's about to take a boar's snout!" Davis warned as he pointed towards the far end of the battle, where the Warborn had huge numbers of reserves waiting to enter the fray. "We need to reinforce him, now!"
He was right: the boar's snout was a Warborn tactic of decision, and fit their suicidal worship all too well. A reinforced center that advanced forward through the ranks in a triangle. Those at the tip almost always died, not unlike the forlorn hopes that the legions employed to break fortified castles. Only the most disciplined of formations could resist such an attack as if it worked, they were broken apart. And with all those reserves lying in wait, even if many of them were simple marauders or militia with only spear and shield, against a broken enemy? More than enough.
But that was not all - the Warborn were not attacking with some simple batch of thugs or an urban garrison. They brought their combined arms to bear, just as the Blackstones had in the army coming up. Archers had taken up positions wherever there were rises to give them some vague ability to see the Blackstone rear through the clash of arms, allowing them to shoot past the melee fight. A dangerous tactic, and Stone bet they already had killed a dozen or two of their own by undershooting. But short of a concentrated volley into their backs, who would notice in the confusion? The Warborn catapults were more obvious, but they were overshooting fairly consistently. Which meant that the shots that came short landed smack into the Blackstones trying to hold the front.
Yet though the supporting archers and catapults were what many Warborn armies used, this one was backed by a sight that turned Stone's blood hot. Those goddamn annoying and impossible to catch horsemen. Marauders on unarmored horses or ponies simply riding around the battle to throw in axes, javelins, darts, and anything else they could get. Normally, a held ground of foot archers could at least mitigate the threat - unarmored horse did poorly against a crossbow bolt to skull, after all.
But those foot archers, if they weren't taking catapult rocks, were dealing with berserkers and other overly aggressive light foot that managed to get around the battle and were interfering, keeping them from shooting simply because, well… you try to reload a crossbow while someone's trying to fuck you with an axe. Thus the marauder horsemen were free to be a thorn in everyone's side.
"God damn it," Stone growled as he saw black and orange heraldry towards the western side of the battle - trying to chase more of the horsemen. "Guy took the bait!"
Light cavalry could outrun heavily armored knights easily - but often had trouble wounding them. But they didn't need to, even if it took a bunch of them off the field, it also kept the Blackstones from deploying their greatest arm of decision against the Warborn. All in all? Even if every one of those marauder horsemen died, if they kept the cavalry from intervening in the battle it was a trade in the Warborn's favor.
Cross understood that clearly, growling as he slapped his visor down. "So be it. Rufus," he called to the chief ranger, "get word back to the main host. Tell Apollyon we need our army here, now. The entire Bloodtalon Clan is here!"
"Sir!" the ranger dipped his head and ran back as the Lawbringer hefted his poleaxe.
"Sir Stone, take the Warden, Sir Alberic and your men into the center and shore it up! Dame Vorena, follow them and clear our siege engines! Sir Davis, you're with me, we're going to clear the archers on the right! MOVE!"
They immediately split up to get to the relevant contingents, and soon Stone was in front of familiar faces. His brothers and sisters of the Iron Legion, now wearing new heraldry but still the same veterans who faced this kind of threat two months ago. Alberic called them into formation, standing at the forefront of the contingent.
"Alright lads, listen up!" he bellowed towards them, "We don't have time for speeches, and I always hated 'em anyways!"
A few chuckled, but most kept to their discipline.
"We're going to wade right into the center of this while Lord Cross gets the right flank in order - the Blackstone Legion pulled our asses out of the fire at Harrowgate, today we're going to return the favor! The Warborn know they've lost the war, but those fuckers don't know how to quit any more than we do!"
"Damn straight!"
"Harrowgate!"
"Let's end this today!"
"They'll all die today!"
"Yeah!"
Stone smiled. They probably heard the mutterings of the battle ahead - hard not to hear the sheer scale of the bloodshed - but they were eager. Now it was time to bring it home.
"Tell me boys," he shouted to start an old call-and-response that Kline had used years ago. "Who's got claim on Ashfeld?!"
"We do!" they shouted.
"I can't hear you! Who has claim!?"
"WE DO!" they shouted again, even Joy adding her voice to the cry.
Stone smiled. "Now let's go and take it! FOLLOW ME!"
Moving at pace was always dangerous when a battle was engaged: most infantry gained their strength from good order and formation. Without it, horsemen - even those unarmored pony riders - could ride circles around them to kill in detail. But as the Warborn had taught them countless times, a countercharge with high spirits could be devastating. But more than that, they needed to move quickly to get into the battle.
Many of the Warborn had been highly aggressive, taking the risk of their own archers and artillery hitting them to prove themselves. It was pretty obvious to see why as Stone dealt with his first opponent: a young northman - God, how old was he, sixteen maybe? - with little more than his clothes, spear and shield, and a metal cap. None of it did him and good as the spear was lodged in the gut of a Blackstone archer that had tried to fight his opponent off, and Stone simply swung up his flail to crush the young lad's arm and shatter the bones in it, bashing him aside to be trampled as they moved on.
His second, a berserker swinging near drunkenly and dangerous to all around. Stone caught his twin hatchets with his shield, allowing Joy to shove her longsword into his back.
"ARROWS!" Alberic warned, and Stone put his shield up as he heard the familiar whistling. Joy ducked neck to him as they fell loosely over them - they were just starting to enter the Nordic archers' maximum range.
The third opponent Stone had to deal with, and the fourth, were a pair of huscarls who were fighting over a rather blinged out corpse. Probably some young hersir who had more courage than sense, or crazy enough to lead such an attack. Stone took one while Alberic took the second as Joy had broken ahead to help a scorpion crew deal with their attackers.
The first huscarl brought a shorter claymore down overhead, forcing Stone to dodge to the side to deflect it properly with his shield, but as he did he started to swing the flail, getting a lighter hit on the man's torso. Blocked by the mail beneath the tartan of a pattern across the sea he wore, he tried to elbow Stone only to come up short, and the flail still had motion.
Swinging it up as the huscarl recovered, he aimed for an uppercut. His opponent managed to catch the chain, but failed to parry it properly. A whack to the head from the flail did the rest and Stone followed it up with a shield bash to ensure his skull had been fatally cracked.
Glancing around to keep his situational awareness, Stone saw that Alberic had already ran over his opponent, disarming him and crushing through the shield enough to pull the man to the ground, then stomped on his back hard enough to break it. Another Viking tried to stab the Lawbringer with his spear, only for the light weapon to snap at the end of the shaft against the plate armor.
Whacking that poor sop across the back with his flail, Stone felt himself smirking a bit as Alberic came around. "Watch your back, Alberic!"
"What?" the Lawbringer asked. Probably didn't hear him with his helmet and the din of battle.
"Wa-"
"Valhalla!"
Stone stopped as he heard the yell he was utterly sick of hearing in battle as another Warborn hurled herself at him. Almost sighing, Stone dropped behind his shield, letting her catch the metal rim of it with her axe only for Alberic to impale her through the ribs with the spike of his weapon, tugging out and leaving a hole where Stone was pretty sure bone was. He finished her off swinging his flail upwards from below. If a huge spiked ball crushing her throat didn't kill her, her head snapping back harder than a decapitating long drop hanging did. The head stayed on though… mostly.
Glancing around again, Stone saw that Joy had managed to catch up with him again. "The frontline's wavering!" she warned before they were interrupted by another arrow volley. This time, Joy just grabbed the fallen Viking's round shield to take cover behind, holding her longsword one handed for the moment.
As that volley ended, Stone glanced at her partial plate. "May want to keep the shield, Warden, you don't have full plate!"
"I fight better without one," she admitted as she glanced at it, as if reconsidering her remark. But if she was, that was cut off as a boulder smashed into a nearby ballista, sending splinters everywhere as the crew manning it cried out. Stone couldn't see if they survived or not as the impact kicked lots of dust into the air.
"Damn it, we need to find the commander!" Joy cursed.
"Not hard," Stone answered before being cut off by another marauder charging towards them. Joy blocked it, somewhat unwieldy as she used the longsword to deflect the blow one-handed, and Stone brought his flail down along the young man's spine as he was turned away by the blow.
"Just find the knight fat enough to be a Shugoki!" he finished as he took another glance. The Iron Legionnaires had almost fought their way into the main melee, and not a moment too soon. The Warborn were about to break the center entirely, mostly being held back by a pretty easy to see sight in the center of the formation. It was hard to miss tower shields when they weren't too far ahead, especially when the user was also quite huge and had a large one-handed mace.
"There he is - Iron Legion, hold the center!" he shouted before charging, letting out a battlecry so the Warborn knew who exactly they were fighting. "Harrowgate!"
The battlecry was echoed as the other veterans of the Iron Legion charged in to take up positions in the shield wall. It had the desired effect, the Warborn that had broken to the fore were briefly distracted as they realized just who the reinforcements were, and were pushed back in the initial impact of the charge as the Blackstones pushed with their newfound allies. Vorena's contingent followed them up, mopping up what they had left behind and shifting towards the left flank.
"'bout fucking time!" the Blackstone Warlord holding the center shouted as he deflected a blow with his steel gauntlets before simply crushing his attacker with his mace. "We've got the whole Bloodtalon Clan here!"
"Of course we do!" Stone shot back as the two commanders held in the second ranks. "Cross is working on the right side, we just have to hold!"
"Easier said than done!" Beelzebul shot back, only to bash a Warborn warrior in the face with his tower shield. She hit the ground unconscious, or even dead. "They keep hurling in fresh troops!"
Yeah, that would do it. Especially as while there were a number of lightly armed marauders in the mix, the core of the forces pushing them had proper wargear. Maille, both of Warborn make and stolen from various legions, proper arm guards and boots… well, some could be confused for legionnaires if not for the fact they tended to wear Nordic style nasal helmets and way too much facial hair.
But it was too late to fall back - with the din of battle and the sheer confusion given how many Warborn had managed to get around the flanks, if they tried to outright fall back they would be cut down. Maybe they would be able to save the bulk, but they needed something to hit the Warborn, or at least distract them long enough…
Turning suddenly as an attacker that managed to push through, Stone was ready to defend. In close quarters like this his flail was not quite as advantageous, but unlike what inexperienced burghers often thought shield walls were not every man standing so close they could not move. Even if they were using spears or pikes (especially pikes) they still needed some room to employ their weapons. But in this case, though their shield wall was holding, it was also losing cohesion if only by the sheer weight of Warborn coming in. And the Warborn were hitting with a lot more than just mass. The battle was going to break down into a bunch of individual fights soon enough.
But when they did, he just hoped they had the rest of the army to fall back to. Glancing back he realized it might be prudent to abandon the artillery - it wasn't doing them much good and they hadn't expected the Warborn to send their entire army out so soon. Someone had outfoxed them.
XXXXX
"More horsemen. Great," Holden sighed as another marauder horseman rode towards him, weapon in hand. What that fool was thinking was beyond the Lawbringer, if only because he knew the Warborn's cavalry had no ethos of infantry being inferior. Then again, even a shorter spear could deliver the strike of a lance if the user didn't mind splinters tearing their hand to pieces as they struck, or risking a longer polearm getting the first hit.
So he held his guard, letting his opponent charge in as he kept his awareness, then sidestepped the short spear and struck with the hammer end of his poleaxe. The blow crushed the horse's front right leg and as the Lawbringer spun with the strike, he saw the horse collapse and send the rider flying off only to be crushed as another horse was taken out by a Blackstone spearman.
A blow shook him as he turned, coming face to face with another marauder on foot. Wasting no time, he shoved with both hands, knocking the man back and following it up with a quick jab to the face. One more spearman dead. Next target.
It was work he was long familiar with - clear one of the flanks so it could at least hold steady, preventing the center from being struck on that side. And in this case, it was allowing the Blackstone archers to reorganize and begin returning the volleys that were still coming in. Friendly hits were inevitable as arrows fell short, but an arrow that fell short was one without the speed to hurt a man in armor. And in a desperation - and he did not need a pair of ravens flying overhead to see that it was - the occasional miss was acceptable.
"Davis, the horsemen are coming back!" he warned as he made his way to the contingent leader reorganizing the broken contingent of archers.
"I see them!" Davis called back before turning to a trumpeter. "Form a spear wall!"
As he worked on that and the hornblower played the familiar pattern, Holden turned to the ongoing skirmish. They were clearing this side out, but he knew it was a losing proposition: there was just too many Warborn on the field, and they had attacked in combined arms, with the left flank unreinforced save for, maybe, Vorena pushing in that direction by her own initiative. At best, they would hold until Apollyon arrived. Maybe.
The Warborn light horse aborted their charge, turning away so they could throw their javelins into the formation and flee. The shields of the spear wall - and the spears themselves - interfered with the volley, but he knew they would cycle the attacks until the spear wall exhausted itself, tried to attack back, or other Warborn were able to get around the fixed troops. Holden could only work on the flank he was on for so long.
Davis knew it as well, making his way over to his liege by cutting through a marauder that Holden hadn't noticed, at least until the foe suddenly had a sword in his back.
"We need reinforcements," the other knight pointed out as he tugged his sword clear.
"I know," Holden answered as he took stock of the battlefield out of habit - a good habit too, as it warned him of the next volley of arrows. With full plate, he was able to simply look down and let the arrows snap against his armor.
"Damn those archers…" Davis continued as he growled. "Guy's probably still got his head up his ass chasing down the horsemen when we need him charging flanks."
"Likely, but he's too far for us to signal." Even though with his position he was, barely, able to see Guy's cavalry in the distance, between the din of battle and the heavy cavalry's thundering hooves a recall would go unheard.
Before Davis could answer, there was another shout about incoming artillery and Holden turned to see it - plate armor was godly against arrows, but he didn't want to be anywhere beneath a falling boulder. Or near the impact, really: the shockwave could be enough to knock a man out cold.
Or, as he saw a dame in partial plate pushing a dazed legionnaire out of the way of an incoming boulder, take out any woman.
XXXXX
They said the battlefield was merciless, with no quarter and no escape. Coughing as her head was ringing and vision utterly blurry from the near-miss of that catapult strike, Joyeuse flipped her visor up just to get some air into her again - she needed to get her situational awareness back…
Her vision and hearing came back as she was looking down, trying to push herself up only to hear a snort. A Bloodtalon Huscarl, sneering down at her with his round shield and hand axe, winding up for a fatal-
Suddenly, he was knocked aside and ragdolled away as a burly knight smashed into him shield first, and a legionnaire pounced on the man, stabbing him into an unrecognizable mess with a seax.
"You alright?"
Joy looked and saw who had just saved her - easy to recognize: how many other knights had skulls glued onto their helmets?
"Yeah, I am," she said as he offered a hand, pulling her up. "Thanks, Stone."
"Someone else owes you a thank you as well," he said, gesturing with his flail before another hirdmen came only to be blocked by the Conqueror's heater shield and head mostly taken off by a follow up flail uppercut.
It took a moment for Joy to make the connection, to recognize the bushy brown beard or the flail he had. Of course, the fading scars from a beating she inflicted should have been the more obvious tell.
"Richard," she growled as it surprised her. "You alright?"
"I think so," he answered, somewhat slowly before they were distracted from it by another push of the Warborn. The battlefield was not the place for rivalries on the same side, and they were thrust into the melee yet again.
A melee they were losing: even if they had yet to rout, they all knew it was a failing battle. At this point as far as Joy was concerned, the only reason to continue holding out was to try and fix as many of the Warborn as possible for the main army to attack. Even then, they needed reinforcements - even if it was just light cavalry to force the Warborn to split their attention and get those god damned marauder horsemen out of their hair.
Then the Warborn started to crack the center formation again, once more forcing their way into the shield wall with their own. Joy pounced on the gaps as she could, but in the middle of the melee her ability to maneuver was limited - she could only try to shore up a few of them. Where she did they were plugged quickly, but elsewhere… the formation was coming apart.
Which meant that they either needed reinforcements now, or they had to start to fall back and risk getting run down in a rout. Beelzebul made the call.
"Fall back! Fall back along the road! FALL BACK!"
They all began to pull back, and Joy found herself in the fore as one of those less worn out by the battle. But even those eager to get into the fight still had to move back, if only to try and maintain some sense of cohesion.
Even then, the fact others were falling back had a part of Joy telling her to move faster within the retreat. She suppressed it - the troops needed to see valor to inspire them - but the desire remained as they gave ground. And only became more noticeable when a large feral man with twin hatchets pushed his way past the advancing shield wall.
"The Warden is mine!" the Berserker bellowed, charging forward and leaping forward with both axes.
Dodging back just narrowly far enough, Joy instantly understood what was happening. They were trying to complete the break. It was Harrowgate all over again: Find the last symbols of resistance, crush them to rout the bulk troops.
And she was in the center of it, as was Stone now that he was locked into a battle with a Valkyrie that had pushed through at the same time trying to isolate him.
XXXXXX
"The center's collapsing!"
"Because the left is gone!" Holden answered as Davis pointed out what was happening. They were breaking and the Warborn's champions were coming in for the most glorious of kills - the warriors who stood and fought as they hoped to do.
"Get the formation moving back!" the Lawbringer bellowed, "Keep it together, that's our only chance!"
"Aye sir!" Davis said as he turned, bellowing orders that were played by the hornblower as the knight stood at the fore. While the newer troops to the fray still had fight left, the battle as a whole was hanging on personal valor inspiring them to not break and run. Only a fool underestimated morale - and right now, it was all the Blackstone Legion had to hold their ground.
The Vikings understood this clearly, and whoever was in command had specifically held their champions in reserve as a Valkyrie was charging into the fray, leaping out from the shield wall to attack him. He managed to deflect her battle axe away from the joint she was aiming at, but it meant he had to take her buckler to the face, disorienting him.
Watch her movement, he reminded himself: he had been in this situation before, and however dazed he was the battle was still ongoing. He stopped a follow up strike of the axe, catching it with the pole and locking the two weapons together as it was stuck in the wooden shaft. Almost grinning, he shoved forward so the back of the axe head hit her in the face.
If that Warborn woman had been wearing a typical nasal helmet, her teeth would have been knocked out. As it is, she had a proper visor looted from some knight based on the cross shaped air holes. It took the hit and she let go of the stuck axe, grabbing a seax from her belt as he shook the axe loose of his polearm.
The two faced off momentarily as the fight continued around them - both had to turn to defend as others tried to intervene, but they kept their focus on each other.
"Come at me!" the Lawbringer bellowed at her in her own language, "I am the Vengeance of Ashfeld!"
She didn't take the bait, snorting before she moved ahead with the buckler raised so he couldn't see where the seax was. Clever and proper use of a shield, and it kept him on the defensive as she struck - the shield came out first like a punch, then as the lighter shield deflected off she tried to get the seax towards his left armpit.
Good target, his mail was easier to penetrate than his thick armored plates. The only problem was he had been knocked back too far, leaving her arm exposed as swung the poleaxe as hard as he could from left to right before him. A loud crunch echoed and the Valkyrie screamed. Her arm was broken.
It wasn't what he intended to do - he meant to deflect the long knife - but it worked. Yet capitalizing on it had to wait: as he did that, a huscarl leapt in against him and he had to turn. He took the blow against his pauldron, then rammed the butt of his poleaxe against the Huscarl's chest, followed with his whole bodyweight. That knocked him back, allowing the Lawbringer to defend as they started to swarm him…
But as a Berserker was about to leap up, he was cut off as horns sounded and they turned to the southeast - amidst the smoke and blood, they could make out fresh Blackstone forces by the thin banners held above a large contingent of horse at least two hundred strong.
"Merihem," Holden smiled before turning to the new attacker and ramming him in the neck with his poleaxe, shoving the splinters from his deflections into the man's throat before following it up with a stab to the gut with the poleaxe's spike.
Howling as his torso was bleeding the Berserker threw himself forward, hatchet and knife awhirl. Cross barely got his poleaxe into position in time, and still had to take some of the strikes with his gauntlets, but he kept them back long enough for a lance to skewer the Berserker in the head. That demilancer rode on past, his partial armor keeping him at speed as another came to a halt nearby.
She stopped her horse, a lightly armored destrier with the main metal being a headplate to stop arrows while the rest was simple padding. Her armor was somewhat lighter than most knights - full brigandine, but while her legs were covered in steel greaves only her right arm was fully armored. It was the only one that needed to be, as she had a kite shield to protect her left arm. Her kettle helmet concealed all but her face, mostly because of the mail coif she had beneath it.
"The main army's coming!" the other Blackstone warlord shouted as she looked at him, "You just need to hold long enough for them to attack!"
"We'll need more than your light cavalry for that, Merihem!"
"I know, Orobas' knights are right behind me!"
The Lawbringer exhaled sharply, but at this point he could deal with that arrogant zealot being smug. "See if you can get some men to Lord Guy as well, he ran off after…"
"We saw, already sent!" She turned as a Warborn spearman charged up, but Holden saw it first and put himself in the way. Cavalry was devastating, but while it was still like how Merihem had stopped to talk shop, it was vulnerable.
"Get moving, we'll hold!" he shouted and she took off, her horse galloping over the dead and dying as he disposed of that spearman. She probably killed a couple on both sides just because of the horse landing on them, but there wasn't room to check.
Though Apollyon's plan had been to provoke the enemy, ideally to be engaged in the open, they had grossly underestimated just how hard they would hit in the opener. Whose mistake that was could be settled later, though: for now he had to deal with a pair of hirdmen with bills advancing on him.
Sighing internally, he thrust himself back into the chaos.
XXXXXX
Deflecting another strike from the Berserker, Joy felt herself tiring. They were past the point of being able to hold on, yet an outright retreat would just see them run down. Damned either way.
As if answering that realization, more horns bellowed and both she and her opponent stopped to look at what was coming just for a moment, before they were back at it. But for Joy, it sent her smiling even though she was tired. Apollyon's reinforcements had arrived, a concentration of force coming down the center of the battlefield with other troops on the wings. Exactly what they needed.
Parrying the next blow from the top and bringing her sword down with both hands, she dug into the Berserker's shoulder and he staggered back. Other Warborn grabbed him, pulling him back as he wanted to go forward despite being too wounded. But it gave Joy the room she needed, darting back between the broken siege engines that now acted as a barrier between the two centerlines of the battlefield.
The Blackstone Legionnaires reinforcing them were moving to allow their comrades to fall back, creating channels in their formation. Joy held her position at the end of one, and soon enough there was another knight at her side, announcing her presence by simply cutting down a Huscarl in the blink of an eye.
"Still at the front, I see," the knight remarked as the blood splattered onto her black helmet.
"Yes, master," Joy answered quickly - and hoarsely. The battle was taking its toll. Apollyon strode in front of her, taking care of the next attacker as the lines clashed.
"Recover, then join me on the frontline. Today we win this war."
Joy simply bowed her head and allowed the momentum to go past her as other foot knights - Apollyon's chosen retinue - filled the gap caused by the siege engines, allowing the troops behind to segment off around the engines knowing their flanks were guarded.
Flipping her visor up and bending over, Joy found herself using Dusk like a crutch as the exertion had taken its toll on her. She wouldn't have long as the battle was ongoing, but she needed to get as much back as she could in the short respite.
She wasn't alone - the troops that had been fighting earlier had also dropped back behind their fresh reinforcements, trying to recover as well. Stone was regrouping his men, and Lord Truffe was doing the same, though they were moving further to the rear as they regrouped.
"Hey, Warden!"
She turned, almost lifting her sword out of instinct before realizing it wasn't a threat. A legionnaire with a flail and a bushy black beard.
"Legionnaire," she answered with a quick nod. "Are you hurt?"
"No more than you," he added. "Though uh… thank you. For getting me out of the way."
She just shrugged, the weight of her shoulder guards causing the drop back to be sharpy than she expected. "Don't worry about it."
"Right, well…" a shouted command cut him off. "Later, Dame?"
Joy gave him a quick nod as he hurried off to his commander as Leon was regrouping what was left of his troops… again. Poor man, she thought, though she wasn't sure if it was the knight or the legionnaire. And now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen either of his comrades either from that day. What were their names; Krassus, and one more…
Not now, she told herself, but as she was momentarily idle her mind could not help but wander.
Still, after another couple moments, she felt confident enough in being able to return to the front. She was still a bit winded, but she could fight. Slapping down her visor, she made her way forward.
But as she did, she had to wonder: was this purely a battle of brute force, or did the legions' warlord have something in mind? Now that she thought about it, they had been overly aggressive with deploying their artillery.
XXXX
The Warborn had a good commander, a Jarl who understood engineering. Naturally, Mercy was going to kill him and his artillery crews.
She was not alone - and was part of just one of several groups of attackers. They had been sent ahead, but told to allow the others to draw the Warborn's fury. Once the battle was joined, they would creep around the battlefield, or however they had to, in order to attack targets of opportunity in the rear. In particular, they were to take out siege engines and commanders.
Mercy's team, a few bandits-turned-legionnaires, were almost in position as they crept through the underbrush. Their target was pretty well positioned in terms of stopping an attack along the road as expected: some swift fortifications in the form of a small trench with spikes and channels for men to move around. But that was the limit of the fortification, and it had none around the sides or back.
That included the cluster of trees they had managed to get into. Stalking forward, Mercy had her blades tied down again, and instead had brought something more arcane to open with. A small canister she had mixed together the night before when Apollyon told her about her role in the coming battle.
The two guards facing them were on alert, since with a battle ongoing they weren't going to be chatting about the weather. This meant that when Mercy sparked the small canister, they immediately were looking for the source, and as they saw it thrown at them they brought their shields up, causing the canister to bounce off one round shield.
Let there be light, Mercy mused as it went off at their feet instead. They had been looking down wondering what had been thrown at them, and at such close range they were not only blinded by the flash, but also the powder within searing their faces as it exploded.
That was the signal and the legionnaires with her rushed forward. They were much more lightly equipped than usual - most wore gambeson rather than mail and brigandine to keep noise to a minimum, and none brought a shield larger than a buckler. Most of the Nordic catapult crews were even less equipped, leaving Mercy to suspect various townsmen pressed into the duty to free up warriors for the frontline.
Drawing both her arming sword and dagger, Mercy moved towards her target, stopping only to quickly kill the one crewman dumb enough to attack her head on.
"I'll take care of the Peacekeeper!" the Jarl bellowed as he quickly picked up his own shield and drew a sword - a pattern welded gladius. Typical Warborn equipment, as was his nasal helmet and the mail hauberk he wore.
As he had his round shield in front of her, Mercy dodged to the side without attacking, letting the Jarl make the first move. A quick slash that she managed to stop, catching the sword with her dagger to force it upwards.
She had a few options to retaliate: she could try a light probing strike herself, though with his shield it would be trivial to block it. Option two was a stronger blow, to leave him open. Or option three, as they circled each other, was to use the environment that both combatants were trying to keep aware of as both their eyes darted side to side to keep situational awareness.
Option three was most efficient. As one of the catapult crew was knocked back by a buckler strike from an attacking legionnaire, Mercy darted to the side and grabbed him with her left arm. A small splash of blood hit her gambeson as she cut him due to the dagger in her hand, but that was irrelevant to the current fight.
What was relevant was how she released him so he was knocked into the Jarl, staggering him despite the fact that the Jarl used his shield to redirect the man past him. That crewman was out of the fight, landing head first into the catapult, but it created the opening Mercy desired.
She darted forward again, bringing her arming sword on a downward slash. The sword blow bit into the mail as it slid down, but failed to fatally penetrate. Her follow up stab with the dagger, however, was far more effective at penetrating the tightly interconnected metal rings. It was not a fatal wound, but as she pulled the dagger from his back she had drawn blood. He whirled around to face her again, scowling as his braided red beard flopped around.
He attacked immediately, a wide and powerful swing. Mercy knew better than to try and stop it, dodging out of the way of the attack by ducking under the sword swing. A little too close, she had to admit as her arming sword sparked along her opponent's blade, but it did the job and she followed it with another sharp stab to his sides.
Unfortunately he was too quick bringing his arm back, staggering her briefly but he was also in pain, allowing the Peacekeeper to get her bearing again. The attack had gone well as the other legionnaires were busy killing the last of the crew. It was time to end it.
She moved forward, grabbing his shield as she moved around the side. He headbutted her, a loud clang echoing as he struck the helmet she wore and she was certain her hood was torn by the blow, but he wasn't able to follow it up. Not bad for a Jarl who won more on his intelligence than martial strength.
Still, he was slowed. Baiting with what appeared to be an overhead slash, she stopped the strike for another stab with her offhand weapon before bringing her arming sword up, completing the circle.
Momentarily blinded by the shield hitting her helmet, Mercy staggered back as the Jarl's gaping chest wounds were bleeding out, and his sword arm was moving heavily. Smirking to herself, Mercy ran forward again, caught the sword with both her blades, and disarmed him by striking him in the bleeding gut with her below. He went straight to the ground with that, and Mercy walked up and shoved her arming sword into the back of his neck, around the end of his spine.
Another mission complete as her accompanying legionnaires had dealt with the crews.
"Ma'am," one said as she strode up to her. "We've secured the catapults."
Mercy did not answer as she turned to look towards the battle. Apollyon was cutting her path through the middle, but the Warborn still had enough mass on the field and confidence from having beaten back Beelzebul and Cross' contingents. They did not know that their leader had been assassinated as they were locked in with the main army, and what the other flanking teams were up to was unknown at the moment.
So, how to communicate her success over the clanging of metal, screams of dead and dying, and everyone worth worrying about having helmets on?
One look at the catapults, and Mercy had her answer. "Man their catapults and target their rear shield walls," she ordered.
"Er, we're not exactly trained…"
Mercy sighed internally, looking around. One catapult had been ready to fire when they attacked, and the crew had not been able to release it. Striding over, she looked at the side and noted the inscriptions on it that seemed to match positions as it was pulled back.
Sheathing her blades, Mercy knew it was too dangerous to try and turn the catapult while it was ready to release. So she pulled the lever, and watched as the roughly rounded stone shot overhead.
It landed in the formation, too close to the front line to be sure if it had hit friend or foe. But it gave them range.
"Load them, then pull them back to somewhere before this numeral," the Peacekeeper repeated. "If you do not want to hurt our comrades, two or three intervals should do it."
"Uh, catapults into a melee? At this range?" another of the legionnaires asked. "That's…"
"If you want the Warborn to be blissfully unaware of our victory until the battle begins to turn, then all we have to do is wait for the next rider."
The legionnaires glanced at each other, until one shrugged and moved towards the catapult and went for one of the stones they were launching. "Come on, give me a hand!"
They set to work, and after the initial volley Mercy set to keeping them protected and watch. Soon enough, she saw rocks crashing into the rear ranks of the Warborn formation. The horns that sounded told her what she needed to know.
A cease fire signal, she noted as the pattern kept repeating. The Warborn were yet unaware that their siege engines were lost. Soon enough, however, particularly as the rest of their artillery had fallen silent, the pattern changed.
XXXXX
The Warborn were giving as good as they got it, even as they clashed with the main Blackstone army. By this point, the Blackstones had reinforced and Cross had joined the center, briefly meeting with Apollyon during a short lull as the Blackstones gained ground before joining in the melee.
Joy had kept to her position in this time, now fighting alongside her direct commander and the Blackstone Legion's overall leader. Exactly where a knight looking to prove her valor belonged, even if she was finding that she should have kept that shield she grabbed earlier given the nature of the melee, and lacking Apollyon's full plate armor.
Another boulder crashed into the shieldwall before them, falling shorter than previous ones. Now that Joy thought about it, it was too persistent to be the occasional miss…
"Good!" Apollyon laughed as the Warborn horns changed pattern. "Push forward - break the lines while they waver!"
Guy's cavalry would be perfect, Joy thought as she considered, but if they were acting on it she was too far from where the cavalry were to tell as she kept focusing on her part to push forward in the formation. At this point it became less conscious fighting and more instinct, particularly with the press of men and weapons alike.
Still, she could hear desperate cries from the Warborn. Words like betrayal were being flung bout. Maybe, it was hard to hear over the din, but the results spoke soon enough. The Blackstones pushed hard once again, driving into the Warborn formation that suddenly felt a lot lighter.
It was soon apparent why as they finally managed to break into it and Joy pushed past: the Warborn were beginning to fall back, horns echoing a retreat!
"They're routing!" she heard Cross bellow. "Run them down, don't let them regroup!"
"Forward!" Apollyon's order echoed as well, similar shouts ranging across the entire Blackstone army.
As they pushed forward, Joy could see other goings on. Lord Guy's heavy cavalry had come back to the fray, either abandoning their pursuit of the marauder horsemen or Merihem's own raiding cavalry had taken over the chase. The heavily armored knights and their steeds plowed into the now routing Warborn ranks, hacking them down with their hand weapons as most had broken their lances in previous charges. To the right flank, the same was happening with lighter horse and she saw Sir Davis' banner carrier in the front.
She heard metal plates behind her and turned, Apollyon and Cross striding forward as they also were assessing the battle.
"Holden," Apollyon started as she turned to look at the Lawbringer. "Take Stone's contingent to secure the catapults and relieve our rangers. Get our own engineers there and send them to Tholen."
"Yes, master," he answered as he bowed his head. "Warden, you're with me."
"No," Apollyon held a hand up. "Warden, do you see the catapult site on that rise?"
Joy turned to look and saw the one she was pointing at. Between the smoke it looked like it was on the rise towards the farming village, with its back against trees. "I see it. Do you want me to go there immediately?"
"Yes. Mercy and her team should be there. Make sure they survive, a Peacekeeper is a warrior I do not intend to lose."
Joy bowed her head. "Yes, master."
With the battle turned against the Warborn and the Vikings retreating towards Tholen in full retreat, it was fairly easy even if Joy had to move with the current of pursuing troops, but soon enough she found the rise. Some of the retreating Vikings had gone there, and there was a battle ensuing on the top of the hill even as other Blackstones were chasing Vikings there.
They must have gotten caught, Joy realized as she strode forward despite her aching body and blood soaked gear. One more push, at least for now.
It was easy enough to find Mercy: Peacekeepers in the battlefield were a hard miss once caught in the middle of it. She was holding her own, but her light armor already had cuts in it as she was trying to fall back, to get room to maneuver as she lacked the armor for a full scale melee.
Mercy had managed to roll over one marauder, cutting his throat as she came down, only to come face to face with a hirdman who bashed her in the face with his shield, catching her helmet with the round boss. As Mercy rolled out of the way of the follow up spear jab, Joy leapt in, knocking him aside.
He keeled over, a sword suddenly in his stomach as he had tripped over Mercy and she had been quick on the uptake. Turning to guard against other attackers, the battle was moving on up the road, towards the occupied monastery.
"Are you alright?" the Warden asked as she held a hand out, though the Peacekeeper was already getting back to her feet.
"I am," Mercy answered, with a calm that sent a chill up Joy's spine. It was like nothing had happened.
"Apollyon sent me. What happened to the others in your team?"
The Peacekeeper paused, glancing towards a pair of bloodied corpses and another lightly armored legionnaire whose arm was hanging on by little. "Wounded. The Warborn archers retreated earlier than expected."
Joy felt her gut churning as she considered that Mercy was likely to be the one to put her out of her misery. "If you need to, so be it, but Apollyon wants to make sure you survived."
"Of course. Take a moment to recover as I deal with my duty."
She hesitated, but nodded and allowed Mercy to walk over towards the legionnaires that had been in her squad… and, for the one that survived with her mostly gone arm, watched as Mercy finished the poor woman off.
It's hard to see that as mercy, Joyeuse thought, her mind wandering in its exhaustion. Then again, which was better: to bleed out slowly of infection, or have it over with quickly?
"I'm finished," Mercy said as she strode back. "To Tholen?"
Taking one last look around, Joy nodded.
XXXXXX
All things considered, Stone had to admit he expected the last strike against the Vikings in Ashfled to be more… emphatic. Historical.
Oh, the Warborn tried to put up a fight. Despite having lost their leaders in the previous battle and the confusion of their retreat, they hunkered down in and around the monastery turned pagan temple. But by the time they were able to try and reorganize, the Blackstones had arrived in full force and confident from the earlier victory, despite the mauling almost a quarter of the army took. The Warborn's own siege engines, though relatively primitive compared to what the Blackstones lost earlier, were just what was needed to rattle the surviving northmen.
It started with a bombardment of the monastery gate, crashing it open despite a desperate attempt to reinforce it. Then Apollyon led the charge within, accompanied by some of the best knights the legion had to offer. Stone missed that, but was told to follow them up with his own contingent, to secure the breakthrough they made.
Clearing the monastery had been easy enough, if admittedly bogging down in house-to-house fighting. The Warborn were stubborn, but they were still human. Plenty surrendered as the blood grew, and Stone found himself policing the prisoners in the center of the monastery with the rest of his contingent, as well as survivors from Vorena's contingent while their leader was under medics.
"Look at it," a clean shaven knight from Harrowgate growled as he pointed his sword at the wooden statues erected at the base of a great tree with several old nooses - each stocked with a skeleton in various states of collapse - hanging from it. Before that tree were wooden statues of Odin, Thor, Freya, and other gods the Warborn worshipped.
"Good woodcraft though, Edward," Stone offered as he looked at the knight from Harrowgate. "You have to credit them for that."
"Sure, but do they have to use it to taint consecrated ground?"
"Considering the names our new masters use?"
"Fair point," Edward conceded as he crossed himself. "But this place was still turned wicked by the savages."
Though the idols were larger than men, they were not much more so. Really if anything made it sinister, it was the hanging skeletons. Who were the poor sods that got offered up to the Warborn gods in such a manner?
"Stone, you're alright!"
The two turned as a familiar sight to the former Iron Legionnaires strode towards them. "Joy," Stone smiled, beaming under his helmet. "From God's lips to my ears, you're a sight for sore eyes. I was worried when I didn't see you leaving the chapel," he nodded towards the last building to fall.
"Arm wound," she admitted as she pointed to her right arm, which had been freshly bandaged. "The last of the hersirs did not go quietly, but I should be fine."
"What about the prisoners?" Edward asked, gesturing his sword towards them before resting the flat of the blade against his shoulder. "I think it's time for payback."
"Apollyon is going to address them, that's part of why I came. She's going to address them, and all the contingent leaders not tied down elsewhere are going to be at the front."
"Yeah, we can clear some room."
"You're standing at the front too, Sir Stone."
"Who allowed that?" Edward asked with a snort. "Cross?"
"A-" the Warden stopped herself as she glanced towards the chapel. "Our warlord."
Stone blinked, and Edward pursed his lips for a moment as the sword slowly went back around until he was pointing it towards the cobblestone ground again. "Huh," he admitted before shrugging.
Sorting out the prisoners was easy enough, they simply had to tell them to make room. Apollyon emerged soon enough, as were other contingent leaders like Guy or the Blackstone's highest lords such as Cross or Merihem. But rather than any of them, Apollyon approached Stone as she waited for them all to be assembled.
"Master," Stone said as he bowed.
"Stone," Apollyon answered with a brief nod, resting a hand on the pommel of her sword. "I saw you and your men in the field today. You did well, adapting to the counterattack."
"So, they genuinely outfoxed us?" he asked as he looked back up.
"Partially," Apollyon admitted. "I knew they would try to attack, but I had not anticipated them choosing that ground with the entirety of their army. Yet the ferocity of Beelzebul's men, and those of your contingent, stalled their counterattack. You lead veterans from Harrowgate?"
"Most of them are," he explained. "I also took the duty of leading some of the freelancers and volunteers picked up along the way in southern Ashfeld."
"I see now how you held Harrowgate as long as you did. A bravery uncharacteristic of the Iron Legion, but more than welcome."
Stone found himself scowling, and was glad he had his helmet on. "Warriors come from all sorts, master. You never know until they fight."
"Indeed, there is often a diamond in the rough. You and your men have well earned their place in the Blackstone Legion, but do they desire it? Especially now that the war appears over, will your men continue as warriors, or will they go home?"
"We have a lot to rebuild first, and we both know this war is not over yet." He nodded towards the prisoners. "If nothing else, we have this rabble, but the Warborn will return."
Chuckling, the former Warden nodded. "Good, you have your eyes on the truth. Yes, we have much to do. But for now, take your place as a Conqueror of the Blackstone Legion. You have more than earned the title the Iron Legion gave you."
"Thank you, master."
She nodded him along, and he took his spot in the lineup of commanders and their seconds. The Warborn were cowering on their knees in many cases, others staring defiantly at their captor as they stood before the idols that the Warborn had erected. But that was not on Stone's mind at the moment, but what Apollyon had said: the war was not over.
Isn't it? He wondered, but then he considered. They had beaten an invasion from the north and Ashfeld's colonies, but Valkenheim still stood. The Warborn would be back. But could Ashfeld recover in the meantime? With the colonists being driven out, Ashfeld's northern countryside would be quite empty. Few would emigrate until they were confident the Warborn would not return.
But he had to put those thoughts aside as Apollyon looked at the Warborn, then to her commanders. "I will address them in their language," she said to the Blackstones. "If you need to translate for the warrior next to you, go ahead."
"Do you need me to?" someone next to him whispered and he glanced to his right. He managed to end up next to Joy.
"Nah, I understand Norse," he waved his hand. "Most in Ashfeld speak both languages."
She nodded, and Apollyon finally turned to the prisoners.
"Warborn!" she called to them, "for all you have troubled Ashfeld, at this hour you have failed. A generation of your warriors lay slain across Ashfeld, and now the holiest site your people have in our country has fallen. To most of your kin, I offered two choices: to stay under Blackstone rule, or return to Valkenheim."
The Warborn looked at each other, but other than some mutterings they remained silent. A few legionnaires looked at each other, but they were busy keeping the prisoners secured.
"But this is one land that I cannot make such an offer. So I give you a message to tell your kin in Valkenheim, to tell the Jarl of Wolves in his great hall at Sverngard."
Apollyon turned towards the statue near the center of the arrangement of idols, the one to Thor… and knocked it over. Being built generally to the proportions of a living man and only out of wood, the force of the blow sent it toppling over, crashing into the tree behind it and breaking. It would take men with hammers and time to truly destroy it, but such a sacrilegious act had a dramatic effect as most of the Warborn gasped in horror, some clutching the amulets they wore, and a few tried to charge forward despite being unarmed.
Those poor fools either tripped on the kneeling or sitting captives, or the one man who pushed past the guards - probably a priest by his thick robes - found himself killed by a crossbow bolt to the throat. A Peacekeeper he had not seen before had shot him with a wrist crossbow. Most of the other Blackstone knights and leaders had tensed as the desecration happened, but began to ease as the attempts to break past ended.
Apollyon turned slowly with it as the dust settled. Her face was obscured by her helmet, but even with it Stone could feel the confidence.
"Flee back to your northern lands while you can," Apollyon continued as she pointed at them. "Return to the mountains before the snows set in. Tell your friends, tell your families, tell all the clans that the Blackstone Legion has domain over Ashfeld. Warriors rule here, but not those of your clans or even those of your gods. And they never will, so long as they remain weak like your Jarl was."
The whole monastery courtyard remained silent as Stone felt himself holding his breath, none of the Vikings moved yet.
"Let them go," Apollyon added to the legionnaires, addressing them in Latin. Some of them hesitated, but soon enough they backed off. The Warborn took the message, and soon enough streamed out of the gate under wary eyes.
And as they did, Stone let the weight of his armor pull his shoulders down. It was done. There would be some holdouts, and he knew there were probably already bands of deserting Warborn eager to fight and die in Ashfeld rather than flee, but for all intents and purposes they were nothing.
Ashfeld had driven out the Warborn invasion after half a bloody century, under the banner of a legion that had not only arisen in Ashfeld, but was now recognized by the rest of the legions as Ashfeld's rightful defenders. Was this a war-torn kingdom's return to being more than a buffer for the rest of the realms? What else would happen?
Forget that, he told himself. Dreaming like that was well and good, but they still had holdouts to mop up. That would busy him enough, easily until winter if the rest of the legion did not stick around Ashfeld's northern reaches. Afterwards, though?
Well, he could get to it when he had the time. For now, victory.
XXXXXX
End Chapter
- I'll admit, writing this I came to feel that the battles are less interesting than the character interaction. Still, I hope everyone got their chance to shine, even the neckbeards, and that it was enjoyable for what it is.