10 Kilometers from Gaspar castle

He had read all the reports, he had talked to those who had survived the previous battles. He had known but he could not bring himself to believe that making the pikes known on Tilea`s battlefield six feet longer would bring down Knights. He had been unable to wrap his head about the idea that serfs could fight and find courage enough to stand in front of a knightly charge. That failure had just cost the lives of several hundred Knights, each and every one to be sorely missed.

He had landed his steed before the center charge could go in, which was a good thing. There was no need to lose thousands of Knights after hundreds had perished for so little gain. He felt the many eyes on him, something he experienced every day for the last 50 years. He waited till his Marshalls were with him.

"Sire, what is thy bidding."
"Beauchamps, the attack to the flank failed and failed badly. A mounted attack against the center will not work, you have to dismount and attack on foot."
"Sire, are you sure?"
"Yes, very much so. It goes against my grain as least as much as against yours. We have discussed that before and we both knew it might be necessary. The attack on the flank showed me the Rebels are not worthy of the knightly charge. We shall not waste the lives spent on that lesson in vain. Let us see how well the Rebels can defend themselves with a six-meter spear when you wield your trusty sword, shall we?"
"As you command Sire."
"As I do Beauchamps. And send a runner to Lady Morgiana, let her grant the troops more than the blessing. She has ways to protect us from the fire. We will need these."
"Immediately Sire."

Other side of the Battlefield

Andy Thrope did not like this one tiny bit. He had hoped that the Breton Knights would stay dumb and keep attacking on horseback. His pike troops were the perfect answer to that, especially when combined with the crossbow shooters and the catapults. He had hoped for a rematch of Crecy and Agincourt as any good Englishman should. Unfortunately, these French Knights were far less bull-headed as the other ones had been.

He had one advantage that Henry V did not have though. He did appreciate it, but probably not enough as it had been with in in one for or another since he could remember.

"Comms, signal Jean to bring his Tercico behind the center and bring his catapults with him. This is where the main attack will be. Send another group of medics there too, they will need it."
"Yes Sir."

Andy`s order were relayed in mere seconds and he got immediate feedback. He had never experienced the delays that message riders would bring, the confusion from orders already received by some units and not by others. He would usually know where his units were and what they were doing. The Rebel`s investment into CB radio gear was paying of in spades.

Currently Andy could only watch the Knights advance towards his lines. The Rebel`s drill sergeants would have chewed them out for sloppy formation, but the Knights very rarely practiced combat on foot en masse, it was simply not done. The Rebel general had more than a little practice waiting on the enemy during the last months. The knowledge that so many lives depended on him, the sight of so many ranks of armored foes marching towards his position unmade any progress he had made towards that. It took all his self-control to avoid giving needless orders or asking for reports that would have no meaning.

There was only one thing to do and that was pulling out his favorite pipe, carefully laying the tobacco so it was neither too tight to burn nor too thin to enjoy. He gracefully accepted the light offered by his Aide-de Camp while literally thousands of soldiers relaxed a bit. It their General had time for a leisurely smoke there was no reason to worry, wasn`t there?

Above the battlefield

Louen Leoncour watched his Knights march to their doom and victory. To their victory as it was inconceivable that the pike-armed serfs, who were equipped and trained to combat mounted Knights, would successfully fight his troops in close combat. To their doom as he could see the line of twigs, rocks and stakes that had been hammered into the ground some hundred meters from the Rebel`s line. He did not know exactly what they meant, but it had to be something bad, most likely something to do with the catapults and crossbow shooters. His men were marching directly towards these and they would have to march through the fire. He had done all he could to protect them, now he got to watch them fight and die. Such was the burden of kings.

He quickly found that he was right when crossbow shooters started to unleash volley after volley. He watched with horror as the catapult arms started to work and the fiery blossoms grew among his Knights. Liquid fire ran down limbs, men were converted into fiery torches and screams started. It was a horrible sight he had to close his mind to. The cold calculating part saw that many of those hit by the crossbow bolts still walked and others with burning limbs marched after swatting them. He might resent the choice presented to him by Lady Morgiana but she sure delivered on her part. She and her Damsels maintained "Flesh to Stone" over most of the troops that advanced on the center and that would allow enough pf his Knights to enter melee combat.

Rebel side

Jean Dubois did not like what he saw a tiny bit. The Knights had marched all across the battlefield as if it would be the most natural thing in the world. They had kept alignment well enough. When the shooting had started he thought things would be over then and there. His catapults combined fire with those of the two Tercios that made up the front ranks. The crossbows of three Tercios had unleashed volley upon volley.

There had been a continuous line of liquid death before him that blocked all sight. The Rebels had started cheering when the first Knights emerged from the flames like blacked specters coming from their souls. There were gaps which showed where the flames had taken their toll and limbs hanging uselessly marked where crossbow bolts had penetrated the though armor. In some ways that made the picture even more horrible as it gave the impression of a force that would stop for nothing.

Jean knew that this would not end well if nothing changed and changed quickly.

"Drummer, signal advance to contact. Mes amis, poulet barbecue is served, anybody wants to help getting them on the spit?"
His voice could carry far ever since he had drunk from the Grail and it reached men`s hearts. The laughter he got was still too shrill for comfort.

Above the battlefield

Louen Leoncour did not know whether he should cry or shout with joy and admiration. His knights had walked through the fires of hell for him and come out on the other side. Not all of them and even the survivors would pay for that. But those who had survived charged the enemy with a fury and violence that would not be stopped by mere serfs with pig stickers. Each and every one of them a born killer, each trained to be the best, knowing how to parry any attack and how to kill. He saw them clash with the Rebel`s line, saw them squeeze themselves between the long pikes. Each a hero, each a warrior. They would not be denied.

Rebel Command Post

"How did the bleeders manage that? Is their armor fire-proof all of a sudden?"
"Flesh to Stone mon General."
"Sorry Dame Helouise, I do not understand."
"The followers of the Impostor have made a mighty spell. They made the Knights much tougher so they could withstand the fires."
"Can you unmake this? Of not they will punch through the center."
"I am afraid not. They cast the spell on their own so it is very hard to dispel and there are more of them then of us. We are hard pressed just to keep her from unleashing the Dwellers from the Deep on us."
"Can you show me where they are?"
"Qui mon general. Over there."

A quick look at his pad depicting the video from the observation balloon and the map offered an idea. Risky that but he saw few alternatives.

"Commo, contact Giles and show him this location. He has to strike now. Contact Francois, he is to take his men to here and then I need you to…

Rebel side of the battlefield

"Alons ma freres, alons."

Jean Dubois was one of many Pikeman who advanced through what was left of a Half-Terico. They had been routed by the Knights, lost the very moment the formation that was their only chance for survival on the battlefield broke. His own Terico might have been carried along but for his example and encouragement.

And when the last of them had passed they closed the ranks and marched forward to meet the Knights that seemed to be unstoppable. Something was wrong about these, some sort of haze was around them and what little skin was visible was too gray to belong to a healthy human but these were not going to drop anytime soon.

"Up Pikes" brought hundreds of shafts above the shoulders with the points downwards. The Knights advanced into these as if they were no more dangerous than matchsticks. Jean focused on the armored figure before him and pushed the pike`s point in the direction of the helmet six meters away. It was pushed aside by a sword effortlessly, the Knight had a much better leverage. Jean still hit something behind his foe, pulled back and pushed forward with all his might again. He did not parry any attack and he he did not try to engage in combat with the knight he had just missed. That was the task of his brother behind him and the one behind him, all of them able to push their pikes through the gaps between the soldiers. Neither Jean nor the other soldiers in his Terico were the equals of their opponents. They had less finesse, less training and equipment, they could never beat them one-on-one. They did not try to do that, they fought as a unit. They way they fought allowed them to mass more men per meter of footage. It also allowed them to concentrate all their power into small pike points and it kept their enemy at arm`s length. As long as they fought like that and the enemy was to their front they were hard to beat.

They were no warriors, born and bred for war. They did not reveal in glorious combat. They were soldiers.

It was not enough. No matter how hard they pushed, how much they tried to stem the tide, the Knight pushed harder. Their pikes refused to pierce and even when they did they often failed to wound. Despite all that Jean and the others could do the Terico was forced back meter by meter and it bled bodies every step of they way.

Jean saw the blacked figure pushing himself through the pikes, heard strike after strike fail against the armor and could do nothing to stop the Knight who was two meters past the length of his own weapon and he knew he would die if he did not run. He could not fight any harder and it did not make a difference. He would die here and now if he did not run. And he found that he could not do that. Neither his kind nor the press of bodies around him would allow that and he had to watch his approaching nemesis.

Royal side of the battlefield

Lady Morgiana had picked the spot because it was sufficiently close to the battlefield to allow the Damsels to be effective and far enough in the back to be free of most dangers. In earlier battles some of her Damsels had died at the hands of Rebel "snipers". This place had been quiet so far and it even had a small pond. It was not magically active but simply a good focal point that helped all of them to concentrate on the same spell.

She saw it, but her mind was largely in the Empyrean where she conducted the chorus of her Damsels so that the spell would last as long as needed. She missed the small patch of mist that formed completely and her mind was slow to be alarmed at the dark shadow that emerged from it. She could not miss the green glowing Knight who rode from that mist though. She tried to end the chorus the right way, as not to damage the mind of her wards and learned of her mistake only seconds later.

The Green Knight galloped past her and vanished into another patch of mist. Before he was gone again he had dropped a huge satchel in her way. She never knew what made her dive for the pond right then and she nearly made it.

The satchel dropped to the ground and laid there for nearly a second before the fuse that had started burning when Giles de Breton had thrown it, reached its end. It had branched out a lot during the last seconds of its existence as it was connected to a dozen sticks of dynamite. They had originally been meant for blasting and had been transformed into something far more deadly through many hours of loving work. A long wire, originally made to stiffen fences, had been carefully notched at every inch of its length before it had been wound around the explosives. Now blasting caps ignited the normally inert explosive and a great lot of hot gasses expanded outwards with great power. They fragmented the wire at the notches and sent nearly a thousand pieces flying like razor blades from hell.

Two of the Damsels made it to the next day. When Lady Morgiana emerged from the pool she did not realize what had happened till she tried to stand on feet that were no longer there.

Rebel Command post

Andy Thrope saw the second Terico being pushed back, saw the openings that appeared at its flank and saw his final reserve pour into it. For a second nothing seemed to happen bot for some lights before the first salvo`s sound overwhelmed all other sounds on the battlefield. The first salvo was like a very loud shot, being given from more than 200 rifles at once. The next followed a few heartbeats later and the firing degenerated into a continuous crackling when each marksman shot at his best speed. Given that the Knights were less than a dozen meters from the riflemen there were not too many misses. And this time the Knights dropped in large numbers.

The Tericos that had been pushed back stopped at about the same time. Andy could not see too much and knew that he should not check on his friend when he had to manage a far larger battle. And things were looking up from where he stood. The Knights` charge had been brought to a standstill and the catapults would take up their grisly work in a few moments when they had established their new positions. Given that the enemy was bunching up again in a fixed position they were in for another paddling. And that was for starters. If they would remain stupid for about a few more minutes they would be in dire straights for sure. He could see the Tericos at both flanks march forward largely unopposed. They had been placed at the Knights` flanks already when the center gave way. Now they marched out and wheeled inwards. Not long and they would charge the enemy`s flanks from both sides. He had the flower of the Royalist army in his grasp and he would be damned before he let them go.

His train of thought was broken by a dual cry. One was a challenge he half understood, one the cry of an apex predator. There was a shadow that moved in his peripheral vision for a second before something slammed him to the ground. He did not see much during the next seconds, heard screams and heavy thuds before hot liquid was spilled on his back in copious amounts. When he gather his feet he saw the remains of his aide and half his commo team in shreds. He also saw the back of a Hippogryphon and a triumphant figure that rode it.

His rifle was in his hands before he thought about gathering it and he had gathered the sight when the rider brought his steed around for another attack. The scope brought man and beast into stark focus. He saw the bloody beak and the gore on the Griffon`s claws. He saw the lance and the heraldry of a king.

The shot was a bit of a surprise, as it should be and missed the King by a meter. It did not miss Beauquis the Hippogryphon`s shoulder. The joint that kept so much weight aloft splintered into hundreds of fragments, collapsing the wing immediately. Two armies seemed to freeze when the pair spiraled from the sky and dropped behind the Royal`s lines.

The Knights had taken to a kind of combat they loathed. They had marched towards their foes in more than 30 kilograms of armor. They had been pelted with crossbow bolts when they could not fight back, they were burned whenever one of the blasted pots dropped from the sky. They had marched through hell to come to grips with an enemy that hid behind a wall of pikes before shooting them to bits at the center. They had not lost their resolve while they fought their way through hell. Now they saw their king fall from the heavens, now they felt that the Lady`s protection left them.

It was too much, far too much. The first Knights who changed course were on the way to the place where their monarch had fallen, the others followed as fast as their feet would still carry them. They fled a battle they could not understand and a fight they could not win. Most of them made it before Andy Thrope`s trap closed mostly on thin air.

Battlefield later that evening

The soldiers had carried him over most of the battlefield on their shoulders. He had given so many high fives that his hands hurt and the cheers had drowned out anything he had tried to say. The serfs, the ones that had heard that they were not fit to fight, had won. They had beat those who had beaten them for generations while they had carried them on their backs. It was a great moment, the greatest in most of their lives and they nearly exploded in their elation. It was grand and grand foolishness.

They sat their General down at the front line, after they had passed him down the complete army. Andy Thrope made a show of dusting off his coat when he saw the horror. He was no stranger to the battlefield, he had been at Marais Jardin and many a good scrape later. Nothing could prepare him for what he saw now. This had not been an ambush, not a fluid battle or one where he shot at hundreds of meters. Here two armies had clashed toe-to-toe and had done their best to kill each other. The back-and-forth of the attack on foot had made lines on the field like the surf on the beach. The lines and the flotsam was made up by bodies.

Bodies manged beyond recognition, disemboweled bodies, bodies with no face. Bodies reduced to the size of children by the fire, bodies with no face or the ruin of faces to horrible to watch. There was the smell of voided bowels and the coppery twang of blood. It was the moans and the cries that provided an anchor to his mind, a beacon to save his sanity.

He would organize the aid for the wounded, the wounded of all sides. He would make the most of the Rebel`s medical supplies, their healers and their medics. Andy Thrope himself would discover the remains of the first aid he had learned long ago and would not sleep for the next two days.

He never thought about pursuing the beaten Royals unto it was far, far too late.