After an hour spent flying circles over Relastan, squinting at the Arthegnii positions and hoping they wouldn't be shot down by a lucky archer, Alm was thankful to land back in camp, where Magnus lay waiting.

He approached Alm and Clair. "Emperor Albein, sir, I trust your reconnaissance was productive. I've a matter to bring to your attention."

"Thanks, Magnus. What is it?"

The general looked at Clair, then back to Alm. "It is sensitive, sir."

"Alright, then. I'll see you later, Clair. If not… stay safe tomorrow. I know you'll do great.

"Thank you, Alm. Do not let the savages lay a finger upon him!" she shouted to Magnus, who gave the faintest of nods. Alm held Clair's bony hips to steady himself as he dismounted, taking care not to jostle the pegasus' wings and frighten it, then followed Magnus off, exchanging a wave with Clair.

"So, is there a problem I should know about?"

Magnus waited until they were well out of earshot from Clair, and the lane was empty of traffic. "There were two desertions last night, line infantrymen from the central army who abandoned their watch and bolted west. A patrol cornered them within half an hour of their going missing. We have them in chains."

Huh.

"I assume they're going to be hanged," Alm said.

"Yes. As is standard punishment for cowardice."

"Did they give any explanation for why they ran?" Alm asked.

"The one was sobbing and said she thought she would die in the battle. The other one refused to speak. If the patrol hadn't outnumbered them five-to-one he may have tried to fight his way out."

Defiance. Why wouldn't he try to speak in his own defense?

"Take me to them. I'd like to speak."

"As you will, Emperor Albein." Magnus had long since become accustomed to odd requests, and began to lead Alm through the camp. He and the Rigelians still clung to 'Albein', however.

"What can you tell me about the two?"

"Their names are Steffen and Heloise. They each have served five years, veterans of the southern campaign. Their unit was destroyed in the battle at the border, and the two were captured, but paroled by the Zofians shortly thereafter. They re-enlisted after the war's conclusion, and have spent their time since in garrison duty at the capital."

"So they're not fresh recruits? That's odd," Alm said. "I would've expected they'd be willing to fight in battle a second time, if they've already fought once. Huh… Well, I guess the first didn't go so great for them."

They turned a corner, and Magnus gestured toward a tent surrounded by a handful of soldiers. The Rigelian infantry were well-equipped, better than their Zofian counterparts, armed with a shortsword, shield, and throwing spear, wearing helmets, gauntlets, and mail shirts, some men owning additional plate armor. Safe behind the camp palisades, the guards just wore their coats and hats, and focused on keeping warm by a fire. They snapped to attention at Alm's approach, jumping to their feet, withdrawing hands from pockets to avoid a scolding from Magnus, and standing in a ready position.

"At ease," Alm called ahead. They relaxed.

Alm felt Magnus' stare, the one he used when he had an opinion, but didn't want to volunteer it. "Say it, Magnus," Alm said.

"I had only told you of this to bring it to your attention, my lord. It is far below your position to deal with the manner in person. If you just order it, I can have the two hanged, and you can go get warm, and ready for the battle on the morrow."

"That's kind of you, Magnus. But I like to handle some things in person. I want to see what's up with these two - if they were willing to face battle once, then why not now?"

"Very well," Magnus said, resigned to being overruled yet again.

They approached the tent, and the guard's leader stepped over to meet them.

"I'd like to speak with the two," Alm said. "Give me a few minutes alone with them."The corporal nodded, and shouted at the men at the fire, who brought a lantern over to Alm, then pulled open the tent flap.

Inside sat a man and a woman huddled together and shivering, wearing just their uniform clothes in the frigid, dark tent. Alm stepped into the opening, and his shadow fell over them; the woman put her head down and started crying, while the man scowled up at Alm. Alm walked in and sat down cross-legged a few feet from them, setting the lantern in the middle, for the two to enjoy the warmth.

"Steffen and Heloise?"

Steffen gave a faint nod, Heloise rocked back and forth.

"Leave us," Alm said, and the tent swung shut, Magnus and the corporal stepping away.

"Not keeping the guards around, sir? " Steffen said, meaning no respect whatsoever.

"I don't need men to protect me."

Steffen scoffed.

"I guess there's not much point in fucking around here. Why'd you ditch your guard post?" Alm asked. "You could've gotten someone killed by infiltrators."

"Some difference it'll make. They could get their throat slit in the night, or get an Arthegnii's axe through the skull tomorrow while they're begging for his mercy. It's all the same in the end," Steffen said.

"That's rather pessimistic," Alm said. "I can't deny they outnumber us. But they also outnumbered Emperor Rudolf in every battle he fought."

"And your Zofians outnumbered us, when we tried to stop your invasion at the southern border," Steffen said, as though he was accusing Alm of something. "And you're not Emperor Rudolf."

That pricked at Alm a bit. This isn't the argument we want to be having.

"Do you think we're all going to die tomorrow?" he asked.

Heloise was stiff, pressing her face against her knees, but choked on a sob.

"Where will you be fighting?" Steffen hissed.

"I'll be leading the Rigelian cavalry, on the left wing," Alm said. "Your infantry will hold the center, the Zofians the right, and we'll-"

"NO! Not all of us, sir!" Heloise screamed, snapping up and glaring at Alm. "You and your knights will lunge in to make the first blow as you always do, and be the first ones away when the battle goes sour. We will get left behind to be cut down as we run, leaving you and the fine cavalry all the more time to save yourselves." She stared at him afterwards, her eyes red and puffy.

Alm didn't say anything for a moment, the nodded and sighed. "You two lost a lot of friends at the border, didn't you?"

They didn't speak. Heloise put her head back down against her knees, clutching around her legs, shivering. Steffen looked away and nodded.

"Leaves you feeling empty, right? Like you've got nothing left, there's no point to anything with them gone. Just a big hole you can never really fill."

"You too, huh?" Steffen asked.

"Not at the border, but… yeah."

They sat silently for half a minute, remembering, nobody able to come up with something to say. Alm broke the silence.

"How many people see it your way in the infantry?"

"Most, in our unit. We got thrown together from the remnants of the army Prince Berkut trashed. There's plenty others like us who don't fancy the odds."

"What would you think if I fought among you tomorrow?"

Steffen gave a grim chuckle. "I'll be hanging, all the same. The others would be glad to have you there to die with them. And you will."

Alm grinned. "Sounds like a plan, then. Magnus!" Alm shouted, no urgency in his voice. Footsteps approached, then the flap swung open, the light blinding Alm for a second.

"Yes, Emperor Albein?"

"I'm done here. These idiots got lost on the way to the latrines last night. Return their equipment and send them back to their unit."

Steffen and Heloise gasped, while Magnus sighed. "Is that true, Emperor Albein?"

"Of course it is. They're very sorry for wasting everyone's time."

Magnus rolled his eyes. "I see it now." He ducked away from the open flap and shouted at the guards to get the confiscated weapons and armor.

Alm stood up and stretched, and helped the two up, their limbs stiff and frozen up after hours in the dark tent.

"Sir…. why are you doing this for us?" Steffen asked.

"Because I believe in you. And, if you keep your mouths shut, nobody's going to know."

Alm turned to leave, when Heloise spoke.

"What can we do to repay you?"

Alm looked back over his shoulder. "Give them hell tomorrow."


The fields outside Relastan were cold and dark, despite that it was just the early afternoon; the clear weather of the previous week hadn't lasted, and a storm was blowing up from the southwest, behind the Rigelian army's position. The wind favored them, but the Arthegnii had too few arrows, and Alm's army too few archers, for it to make a great difference. Just outside of Relastan were a half-dozen burnt-out siege engines - a few primitive scaling ladders, the semblance of a siege tower, and a pair of rams that the barbarians had cobbled together - that had been destroyed in attempts at the walls prior to Alm's arrival at the town. The Arthegnii had pulled their position back and abandoned their ditches in the field just outside the town, and instead formed up on a hill to the town's northeast. At the top of the hill, their infantry stood in one long, deep line, facing southwest down the hill towards the Rigelian approach. Their left flank was guarded by rough ground, to which they had added a wall of wagons and a few trenches to obfuscate any attempt at a flanking attack. On their right, in the flatter ground, the Arthegnii cavalry were deployed where they had space to maneuver.

The best among the Arthegnii cavalry wore mail armor, with helmets, shields, and spears, with a smattering of archers and javelin-throwers among them. They were outmatched - vastly - by General Ezekiel's cavalry; the first line of lighter horse archers, the second of heavy knights, in plate armor and riding barded destriers. On Alm's right, he had placed the Zofian knights, who were easily a match for their Rigelian counterparts, to charge against the Arthegnii foot.

That left the center, where Alm had the least confidence. The Rigelian infantry were solid, and well-equipped, but Alm feared they wouldn't hold up long enough for the cavalry to break the Arthegnii flanks. So he put them in two lines - the first as long as the Arthegnii center, but just four men deep, barely half that of the savages - with a narrower reserve directly behind, commanded by Magnus. Alm would lead the first division.

They departed from their camp, marching out at midday in a column and reaching the field an hour later. The full contingent of pegasus knights circled overhead, a handful of them carrying fearsome pots of napthem - the Deliverance leadership had voted unanimously not to use them in the war against Rigel, but now Alm looked forward to seeing them in action against the barbarians. They reached the field, and the lines took shape. It was painstaking, somewhat disturbing, waiting for the infantry to muddle their way from the marching column into their battle line, but the Arthegnii didn't dare charge them while they maneuvered, or Alm's knights would have wheeled and charged into their flanks as soon as they left the hill's safety.

Alm sat mounted between the two infantry lines, when, one-by-one, the units began sounding off to signal they were in position, chanting a battle cry and their trumpeters blowing a signal. When all were ready, Alm shut his eyes for a moment. He had never prayed to the gods once in his life - Alm hadn't cared for them even before they took Celica from him - but he took a second to compose himself. To think peaceful thoughts, just for a moment, and clear his mind. But only a second.

Eight-hundred and forty-nine. The latest count popped into his mind, and he opened his eyes. The Arthegnii won't kill themselves, won't they?

"Begin the attack!" Alm shouted. The musicians near him gave the signal, beginning their drum beat, then after a count of four blowing a rhythm on their trumpets.

The first infantry line stepped forward, and advanced twenty paces until they were within bowshot of the Arthegnii; up and down the line, the horse archers on either flank did the same. The archers nocked, drew back their bowstrings, and loosed a volley. Their arrows streaked up into the sky, barely visible against the clouds, then dropped back down and plunged into the Arthegnii infantry, then a second volley, and a third, and more following just after. Alm peered into his spyglass. The Arthegnii spearmen were packing tightly together, making their shieldwall more dense and improving their overlapping coverage, getting hammered on by the storm of arrows. They were poorly-armored, but their shields held up, and few men fell.

At the same time as the archers beginning their attack, the pegasus knights circling overhead formed into several columns, breaking off from the army and flying north. After a minute they turned about and approached the Arthegnii from their right and dove. They arced down and dropped, picking up speed until they were just a hundred feet off the ground, opening up the whistles built onto their saddles so that they screamed, like two hundred banshees plunging at the unprotected infantry. They broke out of their dive, and began shooting arrows into the battered spearmen, each rider dipping down, loosing once or twice, and then picking back up for her sisters to take her place. The contingent strafed over the whole of the line, and Alm checked again. Tighter, tighter they grew every second.

A dozen remaining pegasus knights, well-spaced out from each other, came into Alm's view, flying well behind their sisters - they were the napthem carriers, and were weighed-down far heavier than the others, each with two large sealed pots roped to their saddles. They approached slowly, sluggishly, like they could barely stay aloft, until they were in the middle of the Arthegnii; they released the napthem pots and soared away, with the containers dropping down barely visible, like tiny black specks that tumbled and wobbled through the air, landing and smashing in the midst of the infantry, just to the left of the line's center.

For an long half-second nothing happened, then it came - a blinding flash of white light erupting from the top of the hill and blinding Alm, who had only just set the spyglass aside. He squinted at the flash, which turned into a blazing orange cloud of burning gases and liquid, and spinning currents of black smoke. It was silent at first, with just the fiery wave spreading along the Arthegnii line, rolling over the tight-packed men. Then, at once, came the whoosh of the eruptions, a wave of warm air that came down the hill and washed over them, and the muted screams of the burning men on the hill. It gave the Rigelian infantry some heart to see them ablaze, and they began shouting and beating their shields against their knees in approval, raising some racket, and Alm cheered along.

Alm nudged Lukas with his elbow, laughing. "Our girls really cooked them."

Lukas politely chuckled. "Most certainly," he said, smiling insincerely.

"Try to enjoy something, Lukas, just once," Alm joked. Lukas' expression didn't change, but Alm realized he'd hurt him. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"I know. You would best focus on more important things, Alm."

Alm nodded and looked back through the spyglass, but could only see faint figures through the thick smog at the center of the Arthegnii line; burning men were running every direction in utter anarchy, with some trying to beat down the flames, or smother them on the ground, or sprinting for the river. One came into the clear with his helmet plume, shield, and cloak burning, scraping at his shield with an axe, only to set his hand ablaze as well, which Alm had to chuckle at. The archers didn't let up, and continued raining arrows down on the disordered Arthegnii for several minutes, the napthem fires gradually burning lower, the smoke taking some time to dissipate.

On the right, Zofian trumpets sounded - Clive was moving on his own initiative. The Zofian knights shouted, and began to trot forward, the advance led by senior knights and their standard bearers holding blue and green banners above the rest of the knights, in groups of thirty. Not to be outdone, the Rigelian cavalry on the left began their own advance, against the Arthegnii horse, who sounded their horns and charged in response. When the Zofians had crossed half the distance they accelerated, and began picking up speed - the noise from their pounding hooves grew with their speed, before they broke into the final charge as they reached the base of the hill. They plunged forward at the Arthegnii infantry line at a breakneck pace, bearing down on the little men in the wall of spears… but made no contact. The line held firm, and the Zofians were not about to charge to their deaths on a solid wall of spears. They turned and rode back down the hill, to reform for a second charge.

Damnit, Clive…

On the left, the Rigelian and Arthegnii cavalry had closed with each other, and a chaotic fight had broken out; archers rode up and loosed arrows before turning away, while those with lances or swords closed and traded blows to unhorse each other, while the Rigelian knights held back from the skirmishing, readying for a decisive charge to break the Arthegnii. The men engaged had broken down into a chaotic mass, trying to stay with their units or rallying to a friendly banner; from Alm's distance he had no clue which way the fighting would go, or how long it would take.

The Zofians launched another charge, and again were turned back; the center's archer's and pegasus riders rained arrows onto the Arthegnii foot atop the hill, but they showed no sign of breaking any time soon, and filled the gaps in the line as quickly as they were made. And they've far more men than we've arrows. Damn. I'd known it would come to this.

Alm swung a leg over his horse and hopped down, passing the reins to a squire. "Arm me!" The rest of his retinue, Zofian and Rigelian knights together, dismounted, and armed themselves for a fight on foot. Alm's squire handed him a javelin and his poleaxe; it was as tall as he was, with an axe, spearpoint, and spike, perfect for an the heavy fighting an armored man saw while afoot. They moved forward through the line infantry, settling in the front. Alm's retinue were better-equipped than the standard infantry, with heavier full-plate armor that would lend them a much-needed advantage in their position at the center of the line. They would come under the harshest attack, and would have to act as an protective layer over the rest of the infantry. Just behind him, Sir Emma carried the imperial banner, the golden lion on crimson, the wind carrying it forward over Alm. Forsyth, in his greened harness, was on Alm's left, with Lukas' redded shape on his right, carefully carrying Duma's Lance. The weapon was austere, in a word, just shorter than Alm's weapon, with a simple spearpoint rather than an axe and spike. But the myths said it was crafted of the tooth of the first Emperor Rigel, the hair of Queen Zofia, and Duma's own blood. Alm doubted all three counts, but couldn't deny that the Lance was the finest he'd seen, with a razor-sharp point that could punch through anything. Lukas made good use of it.

When they had settled into place, Alm checked up and down, seeing all banners in place, the line straight. He stepped out a few paces ahead and waved them forward. "Advance!" he shouted; the trumpets took up the command.

"Doo-da-da-looooo!" they sounded, energetically, and the musicians began drumming. There was something primal in it, but Alm's heart picked up at the thumping of the beat in his chest, taking energy from it. As one, the line began to move forward. Alm and the officers had to move up and down it, offering encouragement and bashing men into place to keep the line straight. The men were reluctant. Scared, even. Their trumpeters and drummers were loud, but as the noise of the Arthegnii chants and warhorns grew stronger and stronger as they neared the hill. Men looked to their sides, seeing the others as scared as them, waiting for the Arthegnii to come sweeping down over them; it was the last thing Alm wanted.

"Come on," Alm shouted to some frightened men, "the Zofians won't do it for us!" He waved them forward, but they almost shrunk from him. It made sense.

In the battle at the border it played out just the other way. I led the Zofians to charge down a hill and hack our way through these men. Advancing up a hill again can't bring up any good memories for them. At this rate they'll break before the first contact. The Arthegnii begin their charge, sweep through us, they run… ugly business for everyone without a horse. Which would just happen to include us.

The archers had moved up a dozen paces ahead of the main force, stopping to loose an arrow every few seconds, though the time spent moving had led their volume of shooting to slacken. Alm cried out for a halt when they were twenty yards from the base of the hill, and the men ground to a shaky stop as the trumpets blew. Officers ran frantically to bash the line into shape, but Alm stepped forward from the line, giving himself some space from the line. Just before he turned back to them, he heard an awful droning, all the Arthegnii horns blowing as one, and the chant reached a new volume. The Arthegnii mass began moving down the gentle hill, in uneven order and pace, some men running, others marching, some places not even moving as their fellows pulled ahead. The Rigelian archers streamed by Alm, passing through the lines to safety.

The Arthegnii chant became more clear. "-MA, DU-MA, DU-MA, DU-MA-!" they screamed, the low tones echoing behind their shields, with the War Father's banners streaming in the air. Alm turned back towards the line. Men were shaking, some even edging back away from the charging barbarians. He felt something rising, in the back of his throat, some tightness. Disgust. Anger. Hate.

"Why are we here?" Alm shouted at the men. None responded.

"Are we here to fall to our knees and beg for their mercy? Are we their slaves?"

"No!" cried Forsyth's faint voice.

Alm waited, giving a pause to let it sink in.

"Are we going to stand by helpless as these savages burn our lands, sack our cities, and put our towns to the sword?"

"No!" shouted a handful of men.

"Are we going to give them our families in chains, our wives and daughters for their pleasure?"

"NO!" came the response, more men this time, their spirits rising, some beating their shields against their knees.

"We've spent half a year chasing them, and they've run from us every time. This is our chance! Will we squander it?"

"NO!" cried every man near Alm, the whole army thumping their shields against their knees, the noise growing as loud as the charging Arthegnii. He thrust his hand up towards them.

"Are we going to let a single one of the savages live?"

"NO!" men screamed, "NO! NO! NO!"

"Then come with me! Smash them down, break their lines, and drive them into the river! For Rigel and Valentia!" Alm cried, waving them forward, the drums hammering out their beat. The men surged forward as one line, and Alm joined them, the army shouting with one voice.

"Rigel the unconquered! Death to King Zekstriss!"

They marched up the hill chanting and screaming, the Arthegnii sprinting down towards them at full pace, in no semblance of order. When they were forty yards apart they quickened their pace, then at twenty Alm and all the Rigelians broke into a run. They came into range of their javelins; Alm slowed, drew his left arm back, and threw his at the first Arthegnii in his path, a tall man, in mail armor and a helmet, his round shield painted with Duma's black tentacles reaching out from the metal boss at its center. Alm aimed high, and sent it; it slammed into the top of the shield and punched straight through in to the man's face. He screamed and stumbled and fell, and was trampled over in a second, the Arthegnii charging too fast to avoid him, the other javelins slamming into the Arthegnii mass and staggering it, so that it seemed to stop for a second before pushing through the stricken men.

"Kill them all! Kill them all!" Alm screamed as he charged into contact, a warrior screaming back as they approached each other and lunged. The Arthegnii's strike rang against Alm's helmet and glanced away; Alm's spearpoint hit him in the face, crushing and punching into bone with a crunch Alm felt through the haft. They were moving too fast for the man to fall in time, and Alm charged straight into him with his shoulder, slamming the two of them into the next man back in the line, taking Alm past Lukas and Forsyth into the midst of the Arthegnii. Alm's momentum sent the other two tumbling back and they collapsed in a heap before him, but Alm came face-to-face with half a dozen others, and they lunged at him with their spears, driving him back a step even as he waved his poleaxe around to parry. In the chaos a man had gotten in behind him, between Alm and Lukas - it would be dire if the gap widened. The Arthegnii would pour men in and widen it, breaching their line. Alm swung his right foot back and kicked the man in the rear of the knee, as the Arthegnii in front of him stabbed their spears at him, driving blunt force against his chest and left arm where they landed. The man Alm kicked lost his footing, and Alm thrust the buttspike of his poleaxe back at the downed man, getting him in the throat. Alm dropped back into his place by Lukas and Forsyth, both heavily pressured; Lukas was being beaten on by three Arthegnii, Forsyth two. It was hard keeping their spacing with Alm's left-handedness, but Lukas had grown to accommodate, and even as they ate the hard spear strikes from the Arthegnii, they managed to hold.

The initial confusion of the clash began to subside, and neither side managed to force their way into the other's formation, ending the chances at a quick collapse. They drew back from each other, caution replacing aggression, and the men thrust at each other with spearpoints, or for the Rigelian infantry, threw javelins and pressed in for sword strikes when finding an opening. The man in front of Alm was wealthy - likely a chieftain - and wore good armor. He pushed forward, sheltered behind his shield, just his shins, head and shoulder exposed, backed by several others following his calls.

"Lukas!" Alm shouted, and swung his axe down into the chieftain's shield. It hacked through, all the way to the metal boss, and Alm dragged it down, Lukas lunging over and thrusting his lance straight through the chief's face, crushing bone and sending the man to his knees. The men he had led forward faltered, and Alm charged into them, kneeing the chief in the face, then stomping down on his throat when he hit the ground, crushing his windpipe. Lukas and Forsyth pressed in with Alm into close quarters with the Arthegnii, other men nearby moving up alongside them. "Press them!" Alm shouted, fencing with two warriors and forcing them backwards bit-by-bit.

But the strain of fighting outnumbered and uphill grew, at least on the others; apart from Alm and Lukas the men nearby were slowing after a few minutes of intensively pressing the Arthegnii, who themselves only stiffened as the Rigelians spent themselves. They came to a halt, unable to push forward any longer. The Arthegnii dropped back a bit, and their lines opened somewhat, with new banners moving forward, fresh men pressing their way through the ranks. They were tougher men, better equipped, all in mail armor and helmets, whereas most of the Arthegnii were protected by little more than a shield and padded jack. Their shields and banners were elaborately decorated, with Duma painted in bright colors, rampant or with His wings extended, and many men wore wolf- or bearskins over their armor.

They took up place in the front of their formation, and with a cry, all charged. Alm instantly sensed their line being shoved back. "Hold, damnit, hold!" he shouted, "don't give them a fucking inch!" Even that couldn't stop the Arthegnii, and they began to slide backwards faster. Alm refused to budge even as Forsyth was forced back, and only Lukas could stand by him.

"The emperor, get to the emperor!" someone shouted, but Alm couldn't tell if it were his own men coming to assist him, or the Arthegnii coming to overwhelm him. He held regardless, just from spite, trading jabs with four men, Lukas against three, and lunged forward into the warrior on his left, punching through his mail and tearing his guts free, when a hand reached and grabbed the haft of Alm's poleaxe. He dragged it free with a grunt but two of the Arthegnii rushed him before he could bring it back on-line, and they grappled onto Alm, others piling in and grabbing him, chanting and screaming. Alm struggled and almost threw them off, but there were too many - five, seven, even ten - and he couldn't free himself. He swore, frustration turning to dread as he twisted to throw them, just barely keeping to his feet, but he couldn't move. They had him.

Alm heard screaming behind and all around him, only Lukas was near, and he was fighting for his life against as many as Alm. Through his visor he saw one Arthegnii struggling toward him. Like all of them his skin was tainted blue, his eyes like black spots of madness - heavy axe in hand, aiming a swing at Alm's head. The Arthegnii drew the axe back, difficult in the press of so many men, and swung it down.

Something in Alm shifted, a small click.

Alm wrenched his left hand up into the axe's path, dragging the men holding him with it, and the axe plunged into them, lodging in one man's forearm. He screamed, Alm laughed, and felt the mens' hold on him weakening. He jerked himself to the left, then to the right with all his strength and felt another man lose his grip in the violent motion, the rest barely able to hold him. Weak. So weak. Alm headbutted a man, smashing his nose with his steel helm, then reached to his right, and felt his fingers close around his dagger. He drew it, and plunged it forward into the eye of the man in front of him sending the man to the ground, adding another pained scream to a hundred deafening shouts of "Duma!" or "Rigel!" or "Zekstriss!" or "Albein!", the ringing impact of metal on metal, and pounding drumbeats that Alm felt in his chest. The last two men holding Alm dropped back, not favoring their chances up-close, giving him space to draw the Kingsfang from its sheath at his right.

And still, they pressed forward. Lukas was fighting on against his men, and their section of the line had been driven back, with the Arthegnii pressing their way in between men in the formation, breaking through bit-by-bit. Few dared to face Alm and he cut down those who tried, but the Rigelians were losing ground under the heavy attack. Alm knocked aside spearpoints with his sword but couldn't close enough to reach the Arthegni, and was pushed back with the line, and men near him started screaming in terror and backing up, too quickly for the line to flex and stretch to accommodate. One of Alm's men fell with a spear blow to the face, then the man who pushed up to take his place was struck in the thigh and collapsed, others still pressing in over them. Forsyth was nowhere to be found, and the ordinary infantrymen were terrified in the face of the Arthegnii elite, cowering behind their shields, clumping together, and beginning to run as the Arthegnii pushed into them.

"Hold them! Hold them here!" Alm screamed, but still more men were turning or dropping down dead or wounded, the line beginning to collapse. Fight to the end. Don't die running. Alm felt pounding footsteps and shouting behind him, getting closer. Then, a volley of javelins passed over Alm's head, and rained down into the Arthegnii, punching through shields and pinning themselves into mail armor; a second later, a head-splitting whistle tore through the air, as dozens of pegasus riders strafed over, loosing arrows into the Arthegnii, dropping men left and right, throwing the nearly-victorious men into disarray. Alm took a snap-look over his shoulder. Red banners; Magnus' reserve were bearing down upon him, screaming their battle cries as they ran.

"Now it's our turn! Push through them!" Alm shouted, and charged, Lukas following him just after, always at Alm's side. Alm barreled straight into a man and sent him tumbling backwards, then ran his sword through the next, charging into the space so others could follow.

Alm came face to face with the Arthegnii standard bearer. She was unarmored and had lost her helmet, leaving her face bare, and she snarled and hissed as they made eye contact. Alm brought the Kingsfang down into her cheek, tearing through flesh and bone, then again when she refused to fall. She teetered, sinking down but still gripping the standard, when a bright green flash tackled into her. Forsyth crushed her under his weight, but got a hold of the banner just as three Arthegnii warriors threw themselves on top of him and the girl. Both sides piled in over them in the sharp fight for the banner, Alm and Lukas stabbing at the top two men heaped onto Forsyth. Lukas rammed the Lance through one's back, Alm rained blows down on another until they caught a glimpse of Forsyth's green armor, buried and struggling in the heap. Lukas threw one of the men off, and two Rigelians pulled Forsyth free, dragging him to safety in their lines, battered, beaten, and banner in-tow.

Alm advanced into the wavering Arthegnii, and grabbed one by the shield, wrenching it out of the way and plunging his blade into the unprotected man's side, throwing him to the ground, then charging into the next, cutting him down just as easily. They backed away, losing the will to fight, and Alm cut down a third, and forth, laughing all the while at the ease of it. The line evaporated before him, retreating steps turning into a constant backward pace, then a disorganized rout as they turned and fled, throwing down whatever they could to run faster.

"After them!" Alm screamed. "Don't let them get away!"

Alm and his men broke into a sprint to keep up with the Arthegnii, and hounded them as they ran, chasing for several minutes, all the way back up against the hastily-constructed fort of wagons bound together, where the air still smelled of burning napthem and cooked flesh. They were cornered with no way to run, but mobbed and pushed at each other to try and force a way through, doomed by their own camp's defences. The men at the outside of the pack turned towards Alm. They had dropped their weapons and shields in the rout, leaving them defenceless.

They fell to their knees and raised their hands to beg for mercy; Alm speared the first one he reached through the throat with the Kingsfang. His knights and Rigelians fell upon the Arthegnii without mercy, hacking them down and killing the armored ones with crushing hammer blows to the head or face. Alm lost count of how many he killed as he cut his way to the wagonfort's wall.

A few individuals made it over, and Alm spotted one Arthegnii chieftain trying to scramble over. She was just about to clear the top; Alm left his sword planted in a man, jumped up and grabbed her by her left heel. Ahe kicked down at him to try to shake him off to no avail, and Alm dragged her back over the edge, pulling her down from the top and falling hard into the frozen dirt. She was stunned by the drop, and got her knife out a second before Alm planted his plated gauntlet in her face, throwing her reeling into the hard wagon wall, the knife falling from her hand. Alm grabbed her by her hair with his left hand, threading his fingers tight into the orange curls, and slammed her face-first into the nearest wagon's corner edge. She screamed out in pain, struggling weakly as Alm dragged her helmet off, and then slammed her into the cart again, and again, and again. He lost focus for what seemed like a split second, but when he came to, the chieftain was limp and only standing because of Alm's grip on her head, her face a bloody pulp. Alm tossed her down in the dirt, unmoving.

How pathetic.

Alm stepped back from the wagonfort, recovered his sword, and glanced about to assess their position. Lukas stood to his back right, static, staring straight at him for a long few seconds. Alm couldn't see Lukas' face - they both had their visors down - but he made eye contact for a second before Lukas broke it and turned to move with the tide of their men. Gaps were left open between the wagons, which the luckier Arthegnii were in position to retreat into, and other officers were leading the Rigelian infantry to try and break through, to deal the final blow. Alm and Lukas were near the back of the crowd, and could only just see the fighting some fifteen yards away by peering overtop several dozen helmeted soldiers.

"Albein, godslayer!" boomed a voice from the wagonfort wall, which Alm just barely heard over the fighting's din. He looked up. Standing on the wagon was an enormous - utterly enormous - man, easily over seven feet tall in height and broad in the shoulder. He wore fine, bloodied armor, mail with added steel plates, with a crowned helmet and light beard.

"King Zekstriss, we meet, at long last!" Alm shouted back up. Two more approached the side of the wagon - a helmeted Arthegnii warrior dragging a shirtless wretch of a man with him, who he shoved over the wagon's siding, holding his head down against the wood, an axe against his throat.

"Withdraw your men! We've three thousand Rigelian hostages in our camp," Zekstriss threatened. "And we'll be done slaughtering the whole lot of them, long before you break through our walls!"

"Never!" Alm screamed. "Zekstriss, whatever harm you do that man I'll do to you in equal measure. Release him and every other slave you've taken this year, and I'll give you safe passage out of the empire. Refuse, and-"

Zekstriss swung his right hand down, and on signal his warrior struck the Rigelian with his axe, hacking into his throat and throwing blood everywhere near, the man screaming and gurgling as his throat filled with blood. The Arthegnii swung again, and a third time, and the Rigelian dropped behind the wagon's side. The Arthegnii crouched down and came back up, waving the Rigelian's head, the dead man's face twisted into agony. Have it your way, then, Zekstriss .

"You animal! Zekstriss, quit hiding behind your men and walls. Stand and fight me like a man. Kill me, and the day is yours. Otherwise, all I have to do is wait, and you won't live through the hour."

Zekstriss stared at him for a few seconds - weighing up his options, Alm knew - then shouted, "Come face me, Rigelian! I'll cut you in half!" He had spent far too much time thinking for it to sound intimidating.

Lukas interposed himself between Alm and the wagonfort, pushing up his visor. "Alm, this is unwise. You said it yourself; have patience, and the men will bring you his head on their own. You have no reason to be overly hasty," he cautioned.

"Every second the fighting lasts more of our men risk death, and I won't risk that he takes his odds killing hostages in the meantime," Alm responded, moving to get past Lukas, who grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Alm! Think, for just one second! I've been in his position before. This is entirely a bluff, he has nowhere to run! If he begins killing hostages he will not damage your position with the army, and will only buy himself a more brutal death at their hands."

"I'm not taking that chance, Lukas."

Alm shoved Lukas aside - the effort felt like moving a boulder the size of a house - and dashed to the wall, springing up and swinging a leg over the top. The few Arthegnii around him gaped in surprise at his quick ascent, then shuffled away to give space for him and Zekstriss. The wagon Alm was on had been built up on the outward side with wooden planks, giving more height to the wall and cover to the men holding it, and it was thick enough to stand on, giving Alm the best view of his surroundings. Lukas was screaming up at him from the ground outside, with the unengaged Rigelian infantry either throwing javelins at exposed defenders at the walls of other sections, watching, or shouting encouragement up at him. On the inside, the Arthegnii fought desperately to hold the five-yard gap between two wall sections, holding back Alm's troops, but receiving a constant stream of javelins, arrows, and thrown rocks. Zekstriss stood three carts from Alm, about thirty five feet. Each cart was wide enough to maneuver, but not enough for one to pass the other by without being struck.

"You disgust me, Zekstriss. You slaughter the helpless and innocent, and call yourself a warrior? Now that you've come up against actual fighting men your army crumbles to pieces. I've seen ten year-old girls fight with more balls than you! You're nothing!"

Zektriss scowled, and beat on his mailed chest with a fist, his warriors chanting. "I am Zekstriss, King of the Arthegnii, son of King Vikstress! Emperor Rudolf invaded our lands and killed my father, and you butchered our god Duma! I will avenge them now, and send your weak men running from the field! Your heathen empire will burn!" Zekstriss roared, wielding his axe around as he shouted.

"You should have stayed on your side of the inlet, both you and your father. I hope you're ready to go meet him!" Alm shouted back, then lowered his visor, and dropped into a guard with the Kingsfang.

"For the War Father!" Zekstriss cried, and charged. He jumped over the gap to a cart nearer to Alm's, and sprinted at full speed towards him.

"Rigel and Valentia!"

Alm countercharged Zekstriss, and the two met on the middle cart; Zekstriss swung his axe down at Alm's head, and Alm countered, parrying and swinging at the king's right arm. Zekstriss caught the blow on the haft of his greataxe, grunting from the impact, and dropped back a step. Alm corrected into his guard, and they paced sideways for a second, Alm closer to the inside edge, Zekstriss by the wall. Alm pressed forward and took a weak lunge at Zekstriss' face, who took a retreating step rather than commit to parrying with his axe, held over his shoulder. With an axe, Zekstriss needed to be cautious; its blows were powerful and crushing, but an overcommitment would leave a long window for Alm to take advantage of. Alm knew, and hounded Zekstriss, trying to press closer, to draw out a swing. He feinted high and stabbed low, just narrowly missing Zekstriss' left knee, but the king backed up again.

"Weak. No wonder you refused to face us all summer."

Zekstriss grunted, and parried Alm's next blow, but that only emboldened him. Alm swung at Zekstriss' knee, then drew back, feinted high, and slashed down at Zekstriss' stomach, cutting into the mail, but not deep enough to cause great harm. Zekstriss was wisening up, and knew he couldn't win just through retreats and refusal to commit. He wound up for a swing at Alm, but dropped the effort just as he tensed and Alm readied to go on the defensive. Alm lunged at Zekstriss' right, but he didn't move to block or dodge, and swung his greataxe down. Here it comes…

Alm ran the Kingsfang through Zekstriss' side and in the same second the axe crashed down on his left pauldron, nearly flooring him from the blunt force alone. Alm scrambled back, nearly dropping his sword from the pain, but as soon as he looked up he knew he got the better of the exchange. The axe had no chance of piercing plate armor, so while the strike certainly did hurt, Alm's arm was in fine shape. But for Zekstriss, the Kingsfang had made messy work of his right shoulder, tearing through the mail armor, flesh, and bone like it was so much cloth. The king was groaning in pain and struggling to stand, his right arm hanging uselessly at his side, and his axe dropped down at his feet.

Alm laughed, loud, so all the Arthegnii watching could hear. "Is that all? It must be harder to kill men who fight back." Alm planted the Kingsfang down into the wagon, punching deep enough into the wood to leave it standing up, then drew his rondel and dropped it on the floor. He clanged his fists together, raising into a fighting stance and advancing on Zekstriss, who stood up feebly. Zekstriss made one swing at Alm - heavy, slow, and wobbly - and Alm dodged it without effort, punching Zekstriss in the throat so hard he tore the flesh, sending Zekstriss staggering back to the wagon's side. Alm swept his legs out from under him, sending Zekstriss down on his back, and planted a knee on his chest, and grabbed him by the throat.

From up close, Alm got his first look at Zekstriss. Like the other Arthegnii, and Duma's most devoted, his skin was a shade of blue, and his eyes pure black, but that didn't interest Alm. Zekstriss wasn't even really a grown man. His beard was thin and patchy, and he had zits and pimples spotted over his nose and forehead. He would've been begging for mercy, or his mother, if he was able to breathe.

He can't be much older than seventeen. He's just a kid, with no idea what he's doing or why he's doing it. For a second, Alm felt some pity for him, before a red glow started to shine off Zekstriss' face.

He did this. He killed thousands, enslaved more. All for Duma… Men with their stomachs torn open, women and children dragged off in chains…

Celica.

Alm's fist crashed down into Zekstriss' face, smashing his nose with a satisfying crunch, then again and again, snapping his jaw, breaking teeth, tearing flesh. Alm pounded him with blow after blow, losing track of how many he'd given. Alm stopped as he began to tire, Zekstriss beaten beyond recognition. He stood and dragged Zekstriss along, pulling him to his knees where all the Arthegnii could watch. Alm leaned in to look him in the eyes; Zekstriss was still there, staring back at Alm, dazed and blank.

"You're nothing," Alm hissed. He rose, and put his hands around his head - one on his crushed jaw, one on the back of his skull - and began to twist. Zekstriss groaned in pain, harder as Alm twisted further, groping back at Alm with his useless hands. His head went as far as it would go, but Alm pulled harder, and Zekstriss' spine snapped, then the flesh tore, and all resistance broke, sending Alm stumbling back, Zekstriss' head in his hand.

He laughed, and held it high so the shocked barbarians could see. "All hail King Zekstriss of the Arthegnii!"

They gasped, and the area turned to chaos; at least half turned and ran at once, others looking about for guidance robbed of their king, a small core screaming out at Alm and advancing on the cart, weapons drawn. Alm smiled, throwing the head over to them, then recovering his sword and dagger, and jumping down to slay the rest of them. But as he jumped over the side of the wagon, he slipped in blood and caught his right foot on the rim of the cart, falling over the side and landing badly on his left. The ankle crunched, with a jolt of pain that shocked Alm out of the rush of killing Zekstriss. He pushed himself up, resting his back against the wagon, his left foot useless. Seven Arthegnii advanced towards him, spears and axes ready. Alm had no chance.

Here I come, Celica.

Alm heard a whistling, coming from far to his left, growing by the second. An arrow slammed into the side of the lead Arthegnii's head, punching straight through and sending his body to the ground, the others looking to their right in shock. Another arrow, then another and then a full torrent of dozens plunged into them, striking the remaining six dead in a second, as a column of pegasus riders screamed overhead. Half a dozen split off, circling in tight, decelerating rapidly and landing hard in the open area.

"Alm! Come to us, now!" screamed Clair's recognizable voice. Alm staggered toward her as fast as he could, despite the pain of his broken ankle. He fell twice, but just reached her and grabbed her hand, dragging Clair half out of the saddle while he scrambled up behind her. The pegasus was having none of it, and tried to kick them, Clair only just keeping it calmed.

"Move, move, move!" screamed Lady Helen in her harsh voice, spurring her pegasus past them and loosing an arrow at a man Alm couldn't see. Two of the sisters followed close behind Helen, then Clair managed to get herself and Alm moving, and they rode alongside one other knight, the last of six tailing them. Helen took them down the longest path they could find, and they rode faster and faster, to get the momentum they needed to take off. Overhead the other pegasus knights were circling dangerously low, in range of Arthegnii with javelins, drawing attention away from their group and shooting arrows down into the men trying to block their path. The Arthegnii jumped out from between tents on either side of their path, lunging forth with spears to try and strike one of the riders down, but they managed to keep moving, picking up speed.

The knight ahead of Alm and Clair gained much more speed than them, and the distance began them to grow - they were overweight. At feasts Helen would stalk about, slapping pieces of bread and anything sugary out of the hands of her knights, but it wasn't without reason. Every ounce counted in flight… and Alm came in at over two hundred pounds in armor.

He immediately shook off both his gauntlets and tossed his helmet - Clair needed no prompting - and dropped anything he could. Rondel, gone, sword belt, gone; Clair's helmet was already gone, and she dropped her quiver and bow. Their pegasus was struggling, giving labored, heavy flaps of its wings, before finally they picked up off the ground just a bit, a second before Alm would've thrown the Kingsfang. They lifted further, three feet off the ground, then five, when an Arthegnii stepped into the pathway forty feet ahead of them, shouted, and flung his javelin straight at them. Alm shoved Clair's head to the left, and it passed an inch to the right of her face and over Alm's arm, past them and clear, when he heard a thunk and a groan from behind them.

Alm whipped around and saw the knight behind them slumped forward in her saddle, clutching at where the javelin had punched through her throat, blood tumbling down over her chest. Her pegasus lost focus and panicked, crashing back into the rider behind them, but Alm could do nothing. They gained height, and flew clear, Clair turning them about to fly back over their lines into safe territory.

Their flight was unsteady, but Alm got a decent look of the battle:

The Arthegnii center had broken completely. Rigelian infantry were streaming into the camp, and the barbarians were fleeing in panicked retreat, running out the back and down to the river to try and cross, or being cornered and cut down by the Rigelian infantry. In a few places Alm could see spots where individual warriors were being encircled, mobbed, and torn to pieces by packs of vengeful captives. Those that made it to the river were trying to brave a crossing, but they were having as little luck; the water flow was rapid and freezing, and the only remains of the bridge of boats were a few intact vessels scattered on either side of the crossing. Nonetheless, Arthegnii packed into them to try and make it across, and were strafed by pegasus riders shooting down onto them, leaving a half dozen boats floating adrift, their crews all wounded, dead, or too scared to move. Those who couldn't make it aboard were trying to swim across, or were being pushed out over their heads by others arriving and swarming their way onto the beach, all either drowning, being trampled, or cut down by the Rigelian infantrymen hot on their heels.

The flanks were a similar story; on the left Ezekiel had broken the Arthegnii horse, who broke back through their own lines and fled, leaving their infantry to be encircled and charged by the Rigelian knights, then chased along the beach and cut down. On the right Clive had finally broken through, and the Zofians were riding the Arthegnii down just as the Rigelian knights did. All organized resistance had ended, and all that lay to be determined was the body count. How well did we win?

A sudden drop jolted Alm from his assessment of the battle; the pegasus's flight was breaking down under Alm's weight, and he could tell they were losing height. "We need to land!" Clair cried at him, but Alm could only faintly hear her through the wind.

"Put us down!" he shouted into her ear. She took them back into the center of the field, and they dropped quickly, the wind against them slowing them, but offering additional lift. Their pegasus was laboring hard, and its wingbeats slowed rapidly, too fast for comfort, when they suddenly dropped, losing six feet rapidly, evening out, before dropping again, Clair dug her heels in to spur her pegasus but it was dead tired from the exertion, just barely keeping its wings up as they came in hard - Alm threw the Kingsfang aside as they tumbled down - and the pegasus landed with a screech, legs breaking, falling over and throwing Alm, then Clair, out of the saddle. He hit the ground with a hard strike, then spun and rolled, tucking in his head as best he could, bouncing along the ground for at least fifty feet, spinning end over end.

Alm lay on his back facing up at the sky. After a few seconds, the Kingsfang flew over him at head height, spinning as it tumbled. His chest was agony, he struggled to breathe, and his head was pounding… but all his limbs were there and he hadn't impaled himself. He struggled to sit up, almost vomited, and drew in his first solid breath. "Clair!" he croaked. No response. He looked around, trying to spot her - it was darkening already, and it took him some time to get his bearings, with his head spinning from the crash. He saw a thin, small body, laid out on its side in the dirt. Alm struggled to his feet and stumbled over to her, collapsing at her side, gripping her arm. "Clair! Are you-"

She swung around and punched him straight in the face, yelping in pain when her fist impacted his nose. Alm lost his balance and fell down next to her, and she jumped up onto his chest, putting what little weight she had into another blow against his left cheek. "You idiot! You imbecile!" she shouted, tears in her eyes, swinging again. Alm caught her tiny fist in his hand and threw her off, holding her down beneath him. She grappled with him, and kept shouting, "You clod! Halfwit, retarded, pissblooded boor! How could you?"

"Zekstriss had to die!"

"You could have just waited for ten minutes and let your men do it!"

"He had hostages…" Alm trailed off. As his mind cleared, it occurred to him that the Arthegnii were barely holding their walls with what men they had. How would Zektriss have spared any of them to start killing civilians? A second's thought would've made that clear back at the camp, but Alm wouldn't have cared even if he had taken the time.

Clair had stopped struggling, and just lay crying underneath him, her limbs tangled with Alm's. He let go of her hands and shifted off of her, and she crawled away, struggling to her feet. "I'm sorry, Clair," he said.

How empty. I wouldn't have done a thing differently.

Covered in dirt and blood, Clair just walked away with tears streaming down her cheeks, over to her pegasus twenty yards away, a writhing pile of broken limbs.


Late, when all immediate issues were addressed, Alm met his generals. With the Arthegnii routed and their camp captured, the decision was made to stay the night so as to secure the ground. Alm was glad to not have to ride the whole way back to their camp, but he kept quiet about that, though he felt that others shared the sentiment. The Arthegnii who managed to surrender traded places with their slaves; one group went into chains, and were in for a cold night, while the other was freed to pillage their captors' possessions and feast by bonfires in celebration of liberty, vengeance, and Emperor Albein II. "Albein, the Arthegn-slayer!" they shouted, drinking barbarian ale and pillaged Rigelian wine.

Alm claimed Zekstriss' tent for himself, which turned out to be rather similar to his own. The Arthegnii king had been fond of Rigelian finery, and his tent was filled with a mismatched array of expensive items - old vintage wines, silk clothing too small for Zekstriss (and Alm), a half dozen mosaics, and a bust of Emperor Rigel II that had been left lying on its side in a corner. Zekstriss had also found room in his train for a large table with chairs, making his tent the ideal meeting room.

Alm sat at the head of the table, with Clive at his left and Zeke at his right. The two blond, tall men frowned at each other over the table. Zeke had done a find job in the battle, while Clive's work had been… almost good.

"What was the count?" Alm asked.

Magnus consulted a note. "Ours: three-hundred and forty-seven killed. The Arthegnii: eleven-thousand counted killed and climbing, two thousand taken prisoner. Nearly three thousand Rigelian slaves have been liberated."

Alm smiled. Trading Rigelians for Arthegnii was unacceptable at any rate of exchange, but those numbers did a great deal to even out the summer campaign. Those he failed could rest easy, knowing they had been avenged a dozen times over.

Magnus continued, "Three-hundred and twenty-eight major or minor Arthegnii chieftains have been found dead, or captured, not to mention the fate of King Zekstriss. The remainder of their host is leaderless and scattered over the river, fleeing into the Deadlands. The chance of another Arthegnii attack in the near future is minimal."

"An excellent result, Albein. We have much to be proud of," said Zeke.

Clive stared at them open-mouthed, and his Zofians seemed similarly unenthused. "I… see. It was a great victory, that much cannot be denied."

"They've still got thousands of our people enslaved in the Deadlands," Alm said. "We should try to move quickly and pursue them, to mop up the remainder of their army while we have the chance."

That sat poorly with Clive. "I'm afraid we cannot aid you in that, Alm. King Conrad's orders were quite specific. We are to give you full assistance on all operations inside of Rigel, but we are not to cross into the Deadlands."

Alm ground his teeth. "Even while they drag away my people?"

Clive looked down. "Alm… you know it hurts me to see it happen. But there is only so much we can do, and you know that. Or at least you used to. Are we not going to speak about what happened?"

"What might that be?" Zeke asked.

"You know precisely what I mean, General Ezekiel. Alm's… Alm, what was that?"

"I killed their king, Clive," Alm said, in a dead tone. "They ran as fast as they could when I was done with him."

"You charged alone into their camp for an honor duel with King Zekstriss, and then tore his head off! Are you mad? Alm, what in the world led you to do that?"

"Do you want me to just sit by as they destroy the empire, or is it alright with you if I try to stop them? Clive, your family's safe off in Zofia, but the Arthegnii have turned Rigel into a hellscape for the last half year. Imagine them smashing little Anthiese's head in front of you, then tearing off Mathilda's dress-"

"I fought them just as you did! That couldn't be further from what I meant, Alm, and you know that. Are you insane?"

"It is not your place, Sir Clive, to-" Ezekiel interjected, when Clive cut him off.

"You put yourself in blatant danger for no reason whatsoever! You don't have an heir, because you haven't bothered to marry, so if you throw your life away Rigel will be in a civil war within weeks. You have a responsibility to your people, Alm, and it goes beyond your own desires for-"

Alm's fist slammed down into the table with a flash, shaking the heavy surface so hard it sent cups flying upward and papers scattering away, denting an inch into the oak, the wood audibly splintering.

"Do not lecture me about my fucking responsibility to my people. My responsibility is the reason we fought this battle! My responsibility is why I killed King Zekstriss, and Prince Berkut, and my own damned father! My responsibility is why Celica died drowning on her own blood while I held her unable to do a goddamned thing about it! She died hating me for it, the only person I-I…" Alm faltered.

But then something in his gut twisted, and he shot to his feet. "Get out! Get out, all of you!" Alm shrieked.

Everyone in attendance hurried out of the tent, except Lukas, who stood and faced Alm from the other end of the table, his facial expression similar like that of a man being told what the weather was, or being served a dish he was indifferent toward.

When he didn't leave, Alm sighed, sinking into his chair. "What is it, Lukas?"

"Alm, does it give you pleasure when you make evil men suffer?"

"Like nothing else does, Lukas."

Lukas nodded. "I see. Alm, you should get some rest. I will make sure that anything that comes up is handled, unless you would rather I stay."

Oh, how lovely that would look. Screaming at everyone, then taking comfort with a handsome Zofian for the night.

"I… thanks, Lukas. But I'm fine." Alm wanted to argue, but Lukas had deflated him. Being angry with the man was impossible. It was like fighting with a boulder, leaving one feeling and looking like an idiot. Lukas smiled and ducked out of the tent, leaving Alm alone. The tent was cold and empty with everyone gone.

Alm wondered how Steffen and Heloise were. The casualties were few enough that it was almost certain that both survived. They'd done their part. The infantry had held, and Alm couldn't have been prouder. He had never doubted them, and was only proved right. The Rigelians were a strong people, and they would endure. Alm didn't care what he had to sacrifice if it meant protecting them.

Alm felt a sharp pain in the center of his left hand, so he took off his glove, and looked at the skin beneath. It was pale, clean, and unblemished. The mark glowed, a dark red.

You're still here. I killed you, but you're not gone. You're a part of me.


The mad emperor, drenched in blood, hacked down all who stood in his way. Man or woman, innocent or cruel, bold or craven, he cut and tore them apart with his blade, smiling madly, laughing as each one fell before him, his wide red eyes gleaming. He killed none outright; he left the fallen to suffer and bleed in the mud, trampled under his soldiers' boots.

His final kill was slumped, crumpled over on his knees as the life drained from him. But this time it was not enough for the emperor. He slipped his fingers around the fallen king's neck, and twisted the man's head free, laughing madly all the while as he lifted his prize high above his head to show his dark host. Blood spurted over his face, dripping down his chin and between his lips.

"Kill them all! Let none escape!" he screamed to his men, letting out a gleeful cackle, before tossing the head aside and drawing his red blade again.

She wheezed, air rushing into her lungs once more.

"Alm, no…" Celica gasped.


Notes

So.

Regarding the story, I think we're roughly halfway in, but as you can see, most of the setup is done and the real plot is now happening. If you felt like the story was spinning its wheels for the previous few chapters you weren't totally wrong, but I felt like some setup was needed for the pacing to not seem off. It's been a year in-universe (I think? I barely understand my own timeline), so the story's feel should reflect that, I thought. Otherwise I'd just be saying "it's been a year, Alm's crazy now." Show tell.

This is basically the high point for butchery. There are still going to be fights in the future, but nothing this nasty, concentrated, or drawn-out. I fear that I overdid it, but if that's the case, it won't get this crazy again.

It's time for some remarks o in media for nerds.

1. Most movies/tv shows with battles basically represent it as two mobs clashing, and the heroes hacking down baddie after baddie until both mobs are 90% dead, and the losers run from the field. In reality, most infantry-infantry fights would be slow, intermittent, and involve remarkably few casualties until one side broke and routed, at which point they would be chased down and slaughtered. The real casualties would happen in this phase, which I tried to represent. Here the Arthegnii army suffered ~50% losses, which would be very high by most standards. They had the misfortune of having their backs to a very cold river, which helped secure their flanks but left nowhere to run when things broke down.

2. Cavalry charges were more like a game of chicken than what's shown in media, where the cavalry charge into the front of infantry and one side or the other gets impaled. In reality, the cavalry would turn around and reform for another charge if the infantry didn't break, as Clive and the Zofians did here. They didn't have the chance to charge a flank, which meant they had to try and bait the Arthegnii infantry into running out on their own, at which they could be cut down.

3. Archery wouldn't slaughter people machine gun-style like you see in Braveheart or in the Game of Thrones "Battle of the Bastards." It was far more useful for disrupting enemy formations, and baiting people into charging unwisely while whittling away at them.

4. The most glaring inaccuracy I made here was Alm's duel with Zekstriss, which is entirely made up, and a little contrived. I can't think of a single battle where the two commanders actually fought 1v1. (Later edit: Marcus Claudius Marcellus, while commanding a Roman army, was honored for killing a Gaullic king, "Viridomarus" in single combat during a battle. Two other cases of a Roman general winning the "spolia opima" are claimed, but Marcellus' was the only of the three with a grounding in history.)

5. As well, the different types of soldier are just thrown together kind of randomly. We've got Roman infantrymen, late medieval knights, and then just generic-ass barbarians all sorta going at it. I figured that most wouldn't really care too much, and 0% of readers would basically skim the battle anyways.

6. There's also the case of the pegasus riders dropping napthem (a made-up word on my part slapping things like "naft" and "napalm" together) on the Arthegnii, which also obviously never happened IRL due to lack of pegasi.

7. I never actually included mages in this, which is kind of odd in hindsight. I had some ideas for unstable Arthegnii mages who were just as likely to throw a fireball as they were to blow themselves up (40K-style magical mishaps are a great element in magical systems IMO), but they never really made their way in.

8. My main inspiration for this was the Battle of Strasbourg (357 AD). The Wikipedia page for it is surprisingly good. Some useful resources are Adrian Goldsworthy's "In the Name of Rome," John Keegan's "The Face of Battle," and Philip Sabin's "The Face of Roman Battle." I want to be one of those big-brain writers who are so smart they include footnotes with sources and sassy comments, but I don't think sourcing specific things is a valuable use of time for the purposes of this, so I contain my sass to the notes section.

Thanks for reading. I wouldn't do it if it wasn't for you guys.