The first thing Fredericka had noticed about the calm before the battle was how focused her new master was. Gone indeed was that easy-going and flippant attitude that he had which was growing insufferable by the minute. Gone were the easy smiles blaze attitude he had throughout the days she had trained him. Instead in its place stood a young well-built man almost glaring from behind his horde of zombies and skeletons at a smaller-sized army of peasants that seemed for the moment to stand steadfastly on the hill that the ill-fated parlay took place on.
She knew that her master would be displeased at the sight of Wendel being slain, but to think it would affect him this much...did he care that much for the blonde young man, or was he simply frustrated that he didn't heed her advice earlier.?
Regardless it didn't stop him from taking further control of the situation as he eyed the Brettonian forces just ahead.
"So no cavalry then?" Lyle asked in a low voice, looking expectantly at her.
Getting over the surprise at being addressed, especially at the tone, Fredericka nodded. "If they did, they would not conceal them. The Brettonians despise underhanded tactics as foolish as it may seem. It's unlikely that they have anything hidden nearby."
Her master snorted derisively. "More's the pity for them. I want our mangy hounds flanking their right and our ghost riders on the left. Let's see just how long those assholes last when they're having the worst kind of three-way."
Seeing no problem with the strategy, she nodded once more. "It will be done, master."
"In the meantime let's get our boys in niiice and close. I wanna get so close so I can see these backstabbin' SOBs shakin their boots."
"Thigh will be done, master." It was like with Kemmler all over again, except, Lyle was quick to take control of the situation just as he once did, but in a different way she observed. As the necromancers moved to convey his orders the undead army did as he bid. The Hexwraiths and their bone-chilling phantasmic bodies moved to the left side of the Brettonnian army whilst the snarling and gnashing undead wolves moved to the right.
It was interesting for Fredericka to see how similar yet different Kemmler and Heinrich were. Kemmler seemed at home concocting potions and experimenting with spells yet finding giving a pitched battle tedious and in his words 'a waste of resources for the greater plan'. In contrast, Lyle seemed amused by the talk of spellcraft but only bothered to learn the incantations at Frederica's insistence...yet the moment Wendel fell and with battle looming, he almost seemed to be in her element. In spite of technically being her junior, she felt this odd calm at him taking the lead in their undead forces.
"And make sure that the boys on the sides don't attack yet. I don't want them chargin' in until it's the right moment!" He barked out, glaring at the enemy with growing ferocity.
"Yes, master."
And so the as one, in near perfect, unison the undead army began to move forward, as a near in-sync monstrosity that had one purpose and one purpose only. Destroying their opposition killing the living.
Up ahead, the Brettonian peasants stood fast, but one could tell that they were nervous. This wasn't hard for them to accomplish given that few people could find the stones within themselves to go against the undead. This was a garrison that was used to put down drunken brawls or any other uppity peasants that had qualms that could disrupt the day-to-day lifestyle or scare off a smaller raiding party. And it was clear these necromancers had grander plans other than raiding.
Lyle however as his forces drew closer to the beleaguered and dirty peasants noticed a group of men that stood out from them apart from the 3 knights from earlier. Men actually dressed in what didn't look like a mismatch of rags and leather armor. Indeed. It seemed as though there were men wearing what appeared to be genuine steel on the enemy's right flank with greatswords and swords and shields. It was here that the 3 knights found themselves.
"Ey Freddy?...who are those fancier lookin' Frenchies to our left?"
"Ah...I could be wrong but those appear to be foot squires. Amongst some of the most heavily armored men of Brettonias infantry that are willing to fight on foot."
"Willin to fight on foot? What? Are knights too good to fight on the ground with the dirty and smelly masses?"
"Yes actually. How did you guess that master?"
"...I was actually jokin'... you serious right now?" Lyle asked momentarily at a loss, his anger abated for the moment in stunned silence.
"Are you seeing now why I think so little of Brettonians? The knights would never sully themselves to be on the same level as those below them, those being the peasants of course. To fight on foot is...well...they would rather die, master…"
"...considerin' what they did to Wendel, why don't we grant em' their wish then?"
Still getting used to the rising level of bloodlust coming from her master, Fredericka urged the horde on, making extra sure along with her apprentice necromancers to keep the zombies in front. Seeing as to how a small group of archers was beginning to knock their bows, it would be necessary for what was to come.
Her fears rang true as the archers let the arrows fly soon after. It was far from a unified loose, with arrows often being launched in small clusters or even one after another, but the arrows were loosed all the same. Considering that these arrows were in the hands of peasants, Fredericka was none too surprised to see some of the tipped projectiles miss their targets entirely, with few of the shambling zombies even slowing down.
The archers tried to loose more arrows in succession, but it turned into a very sloppy affair, some peasants' hands' visibly trembling at the sight of the moaning and groaning zombies coming ever so closer along with the rest of the undead army. These flesh-filled creatures of the undead were uncaring for whatever landed on them and pushed forward with a relentless intensity at the goading of the necromancers hiding behind them.
"Should we be worried our zombies are startin' to look like pin cushions?" Lyle asked scrutinizing them his front lines from his horse."
"Not for long master."
Fredericka's words turned to be quite prophetic as finally the archers either lost their nerve or were ordered back behind the front lines. Probably both if she had to guess given the hurried yet disorganized nature of the peasants.
Fredericka almost felt sorry for the spear, pitchfork, and sword-wielding peasants that now had to stand their ground against the groaning undead shambling towards them...almost. She was a necromancer after all. Her pity for the living only extended so far.
"Fredericka." her master suddenly called out to her, glaring at the peasents...no...he was glaring past them. Right at the archers that were now hiding behind the front line she soon realized.
"Yes, Master?"
"As soon as our zombie and bone boys smash into the front...sick the dogs on the archers."
Her master truly WAS furious. "It will be done, my lord." Though she couldn't find fault in his strategy. Once battle lines were met, there was a good chance that if left to their own devices, the archers would turn their fire on her and her fellow necromancers, and Negash forbids her master as well.
So it was with this strategem in mind that every on both sides waited for bated breath for the lines to be met. The peasants held fast but clearly wanted to be anywhere but there. The fear of what would happen to their families in the town not far from the battle rooting them to the spot. The zombies and skeletons shambled forward, uncaring and unheeding of such thoughts, only looking to do as their unholy masters bid.
And do as they bid, they did. The zombies nearly in unison shambled right into the lines of the peasants, swinging their mishmash of weapons wildly or resorting to clawing or outright biting the unfortunate peasants that happened to be in front of them. Said peasants now found themselves in a desperate struggle as their line held. For all the terror, and horror the zombies provided to this peasantry up close, said peasants held firm. With their shields, spears, swords, and pitchforks, the peasants did not break. This was their town they were defending after all. Though they were of poor learning, it didn't take a genius for them to come to the conclusion of the fates of those they cared about in Gisoreux. Such thoughts straightened their spines and hardened their hearts against the moaning and groaning undead creatures before them.
The difficulty of their job, however, was followed by the fact that it wasn't just zombies they had to contend with. It was skeletons as well who jumped into the fray at the behest of their necromantic handlers, urging them forward to support their zombie brethren who were getting stuck into the fight.
"Sick the dogs, Fredericka."
"Yes, Master." Nodding to the necromancers on their right flank, incantations were made and mental commands sent out, and suddenly the undead wolves that had been snarling in anticipation at sinking their teeth into living flesh on the far right flank suddenly sprang into action, closing the distance toward the Brettonnian rear with frightening speed.
Even Lyle was seemingly impressed with how quickly they were making tracks towards the archers. "Fast lil' shits ain't they?"
"It's what they're here for, master. To close the distance with weak and to feast on their flesh in short order."
"Fair enough."
The Brettonian archers certainly didn't think it was 'fair enough.' Especially when they barely had time to run away from the frightening speed of the beasts that were hurtling themselves at the hapless peasants. Some of these archers had the presence of mind to take out knives while others preferred to run away entirely. Perhaps if there were better cohesion and unity in such decision making they could have stood a better chance.
Sadly it was not to be. You could only expect so much organization from a group of peasants press-ganged into service with the bare minimum of training, much less in equipment. Some of the peasants didn't even have weapons while only have blunt objects like cudgels. Not nearly enough to save them from what was to come.
Finally, the wolves closed the distance, leaping great lengths and heights to clamp their jaws around the limbs or throats of the archers unfortunate enough to not be smart enough to run away when the going got tough. The ones that had their throats ripped out were the lucky ones, as their deaths were relatively quick in comparison to those who found their limbs being gnawed on, followed by agonizing screams of pain that filled the battle-filled air. Some wolves went so far as to tag-team unfortunate scream peasants, pulling on an arm while another wolf chewed through a leg, showing no remorse for their unfortunate victims.
Fredericka couldn't lie and say that she wasn't satisfied with the site, especially due to the cowardly hand they had to play in Wendel's demise.
Curiously however she felt a shift in the winds of magic. A shift in the dharr in the air to be exact. Someone amongst their number was casting a spell. A large encompassing one at that. Feeling through the source she turned to none other than her master who was raising her hand and making very familiar incantations, a look of focused concentration on his face. He seemed rather slow about doing it, seemingly careful in pronouncing them right, but ultimately he was seemingly successful in his goal.
Feeling the winds shift towards the undead frontline she spied some of the battered and damaged zombies have their wounds nit back together unnaturally, with flesh seemingly mending itself on the spot. Even some of the fallen and utterly damaged of the horde seemed to rise back up much to the dismay of the Brettonians who could only watch in horror as the work they put into down such creatures was undone.
"Slow, but very effective master. Have more confidence in your incantation and the potency can be even greater." she spoke honestly, nodding towards the frowning Lyle.
"Yeah, I noticed...Gotta get more practice in I'm realizin'."
"After a few more battles, you might have your chance to do so."
Meanwhile, the foot squires in the second line of the Brettonian forces on the right flank could only watch in unsettling horror as the dead not only rose again but also saw their peasant archers get battered and butchered by undead wolves.
One of said footsquires approached Gerome. "My lord should we not intervene? Our forces ar-
"Doing their job." The head knight finished, glaring intensely at the unsettling sight of the Hex wraiths standing idly a ways away from them. "We have greater concerns, namely those unsightly, creatures just ahead in case you haven't noticed...squire. The peasants are doing what they are always meant to do. Buying us precious time to-
"Gerome! They're headed right towards us!" Fabian cried as the hex wraiths gave a bone-chilling shriek, leaving behind a phantasmic glow as they surged forward as one, sickles raised whilst utop their horrifying horses.
"Stand your ground, men!" Gerome found himself crying as he steeled himself as much as he hoped to steel the squires he and his retinue surrounded themselves with. "Cometh the horrors of the dead, comes the tests of the lady. With a successful battle comes a successful step in your quest to become knights! Knights of th-
His speech was unfortunately cut off by the hexwraiths slamming right into the foot squires, swinging their sickles and rending limbs, necks, bodies, and heads in ways that people could only dream of in nightmares. Even Gerome himself was taken aback, seeing such horror up close. Being a knight whose job was to oversee Gisoreux, his retinue had never seen such horror that the undead had to offer up close, especially not in such a life and death struggle such as this. Yet it was all he could do to parry and deflect the sickle blows that came from one of these hexwraiths that surged forward to him, hellbent on tearing his soul from his mortal body.
What made the squires' and knights' chances even worse was the fact that the damage they did was minimal due to the nigh incorporeal bodies of these phantom-like creatures.
Yet in spite of these ghostly horrors inflicting fear and pain, unlike anything they ever imagined, Gerome and his forces held firm. So what if they were up against such horrific creatures? Many of the squires did not yield due to the fact that they were squires in the first place. They had grown up listening to the tales of how the realm of Brettonia was formed, in the face of horror with heroes rising up to the challenge to raise a kingdom in which they now called home. All with the assistance of the lady. The lady who would bless the most courageous and devout of her creed.
And it was with these thoughts in mind that the squires fought on with ferocity in mind, actually managing to damage some of the hexwraiths in spite of their composition, making the unholy creatures pay for every life they took.
"Those squires ain't a joke are they?" Lyle remarked, complimenting the fact that said squires weren't buckling under the pressure unlike the peasantry, who were starting to waver in the face of the tireless horde before them.
"Most squires in this god-rotting country will break before they bend my lord, let alone the knights. They care for nothing besides being recognized for their deeds in the face of their so-called holy lady."
"So they're the ultimate mega simps then. Fuckin A'.
"Simps my master?"
"Slang for schmucks who bend over backward for ladies in the worst ways for the worst reasons...and oftentimes for the worst ladies."
"That actually sums up much of the nobility in this country I believe." Fredericka remarked sounding impressed at her master's description.
"And we gotta deal with more of these guys afterward? Lovely...say Freddy?"
"Yes master?"
"Why haven't we moved those guys over there? The ghost guys with the scythes that aren't actually on horses...what are those again?"
Seeing him pointing to the blue-hued ghostly creatures in question, Fredericka winced. She'd gotten so caught up in everything else she had honestly forgotten about them. "Those would be cairn wraiths master, they are among some of our most...deadliest creatures crafted personally by our previous master Kemmler himself."
"Huh...up close and personal they really sell the casper the un-friendly ghost image pretty well. So why are they just standin' there?"
Trying to cover up her momentary incompetence she quickly came up with a quick response. "Kept in reserve master! For whatever unexpected situation that may come up!" She said more loudly and nervously than she would have liked.
Thankfully with a shrug, he seemed to buy the lie easily, before putting a finger to his chin. "May I?" Initially confused by the request, she then immediately understood what he was saying before nodding dumbly at him.
"Y-you needn't ask master, the army is yours to command as you see fit."
"Always nice to chat about these things though." Lyle remarked, before sending a mental command to the group of cairn wraiths, getting their attention and sending them to the left flank where the foot squires were engaged.
Before the cairn wraiths arrived the foot squires were actually holding up quite admirably with Gerome and friends at the helm utop their horses keeping the worst of the assault at bay. Things seemed to be going swimmingly as some of the hexwraiths seemed to dispel entirely when they took much damage.
Then the cairn wraiths slammed into their rear.
For all the fancy armor that the foot squires had in comparison to their peasant counterparts, it was rendered nearly useless to these bone-chilling phantom abominations. Whatever courage and fervor they had built up seemed to evaporate as they now found themselves sandwiched in between two ghostly forces that dropped the temperature down quite a bit, even with Gerome trying to rally them in the face of such odds.
The squires were reeling. The peasants were wavering. All it would take was one or two more blows to send the army into a mob rather than an ill-disciplined majority peasant force.
Lyle had just an idea for one of those blows. "Looks like our doggies have gotten their fill Fredericka..." Lyle pointed out, spying the wolves chewing up the last of the archers they had made short work of with the rest making tracks back towards the town, some not even bothering to hold on to whatever bows, arrows, or weapons they previously had. "Bastards had it coming." He finished in a low voice glowering at the sad sight.
"Shall we have them chase down the rest of the filthy peasents master?" Fredericka queried. "They can run all they want but, they will never outrun our wolves."
Lyle thought about it...he certainly was tempted. Seeing images of Wendel's feathered body...the arrow sticking out of his eye. He may have just met him, but even so…
Inhaling and exhaling, he came to a decision. "Nah...send em' into the back of the rest of the peasants in the front."
"Master?" Fredericka questioned, surprise.
"We can always get those back stabbin matarazz mutha fuckas later...we gotta still focus on the chumps in front of us don't we? Ma always said not to play with your food for too long after all." And just like that, with a simple thought from Lyle taking the initiative, instead of pursuing their fleeing archers, the Wolves instead whipped their heads around, scampering with snapping jaws towards the rear of the center of the main battle lines launching themselves onto the backs of the unprepared screaming peasants, with others slamming their gore-filled jaw around the ankles of others, dragging them down shrieking.
This was simply too much for other nearby levies, who were witnessing this bestial slaughter happening around them, which wasn't helped by the fact that they had made little to no headway killing the lines of zombies before them, nevermind the skeletons! Fredericka and the rest of her necromancers hadn't been idle in the battle besides giving commands to their undead creatures. With plenty of magic at their disposal still, they had been following Lyle's footsteps, casting the invocation of Nehek time and time again, revitalizing the battered and oftentimes impaled zombies hurtling themselves into the levies with no concern of their own.
How could they have been concerned when they were nothing more than simple vehicles filled with Dharr to dance to the barrow legion's tune?
And so it began as all routes usually begin. With a single soldier throwing his heavy shield and spear down and fleeing as fast as his feet could take him. Someone else close saw him fleeing and a buddy followed suit. And then another. And so on.
Soon entire groups of levies began running for their lives, the zombies all too eager to surround those who weren't smart enough to run while they still had the chance, stabbing or clubbing those unlucky enough to be close by or dragging others down screaming with grasping hands. The Brettonnian garrison army was an army no more. It was simply now a band of poorly equipped, and trained men who were now fleeing for their lives, begging the lady for mercy along with those who were quickly finding themselves surrounded in the center.
One of these peasants was a young man named Furnival, though those close to him called him Forny. He was one of those smart enough to run and head past the hills back home along with many others who were literally running for their lives, praying to the lady that the hounds weren't nipping at their heels. He chanced a look behind himself, eyeing in despair at his fellow countrymen, particularly the ones who were still trapped in the closing ring of skeletons and zombies.
Cringing at the fate of those now trapped within, he tore his gaze away and headed towards Gisoreux proper, sending a silent prayer to the lady for those he was leaving behind...and another prayer for the fate of his home.
Shockingly the footsquires were still holding out. Gerome and his staunch group of men had created a small circle of defense of their own outside of the one where the encircled peasants were in, with Gerome and his two fellow knights in the center, with ghostly phantoms surrounding them on all sides.
"...these guys really dead set on not giving up?" Lyle eyed in disbelief, his anger abating in the face of the carnage that was happening before him...that he had a major hand in causing.
"Indeed...They're taking quite a few of our wraiths as well master." Fredericka noted with trepidation. "I have no doubt now as to the outcome of this battle, but if we wish to see continued success…"
"Then our un-friendly Caspers gotta live to fight another day...or...unlive...are they even alive?"
"They're more of a construct of dharr, the souls of the damned and many other things master...regardless we must take action. I suggest we use the remaining winds of magic to use restore their forms as much as we can!"
"Eh...sure. sounds like-
-the actions of the meek.
Lyle blinked. He looked to his right, and then he looked to his left. That was a deep voice. Definitely not Fredericka's. "You hear that?"
The dark haired necromancer blinked owlishly. "Heard what exactly master? The sounds of coming victory you mean?
"Nah, it was...it was a deep voice it-
Say my name...Inheritor of Kemmler...my blade thirsts for the lifeblood of the living.
"Okaaayyy….so Freddy is it normal for necromancers to hear disembodied voices in their heads?"
"Um...not that I know of...unless certain potions are involved...are you feeling alright master?"
"I mean physically yeah, besides som-
Say my name inheritor...scream it so that I may disembowel your enemies.
"Yeah I ain't gonna lie, I'm gettin' worried about some dude in my head sayin' somethin' about wanting to gut my enemies so to spe-
SAY MY NAME!
And just like that, a sharp acute pain rang out in Lyle's head, the screams and clashes of battle had suddenly tuned out in front of him. He dropped his staff and nearly fell off his horse, with Fredericka saying something to him. A look of concern marring her face.
SCREAM IT SO I MAY BATHE IN BRETTONIAN BLOOD BEFORE THE BATTLE ENDS! SAY IT BOY!
Lyle's head began to pound. Sweat began to build on his forehead as the pressure seemed to build in his skull. Unbeknownst to him, but plain to see for Fredericka and the other necromancers to see was that a heavy amount of dark wind of magic began to coalesce around him, whipping around as if rife with anger.
SAY IT!
And just like that. A name appeared in his mind along with the pounding pain.
He gasped, eyes wide open, with his pupils going bone white for but, a moment.
"Krell."
A bolt of lightning tore through the sky, striking near the center of the circle of foot squires, sending some flying and scattering through the air as their skin suddenly became charred as much as it was black.
Before anyone had a moment to ask what in the hell(or in the brettonian's case 'what in the lady') was going on, a large double-sided black and blue ax glowing an unsettling aura suddenly swung through the bodies of two unfortunate foot squires, bisecting them in half before they even had a chance to scream. Smoke had appeared as a result of the thunderstrike, making it hard to see who it was exactly that was swinging such a humongous ax. Regardless it didn't matter, because the level of destruction that this ax wielder left in their wake was total as much as it was final.
Two more foot squires trying to strike out with their own blades suddenly found their blades bouncing off of what appeared to be hard armor, considering their swings struck true, yet drew no blood. In return, the blade swung again, and instead of two bodies getting cut in half, the slice was much more precise, outright decapitating the two offending squires with a single swing, so fast it resembled more a blur than an ax.
The blade did not cease swinging there. Its user was clearly not content on waiting for others to attack him to give them the excuse. And so a swinging it went. The foot squires were amongst the best infantry that Brettonia had to offer, but against the foe that had suddenly appeared the moment Lyle uttered a single name, they became nothing more than practice. Their steel armor was rent worse than useless as nothing more than weight to keep them from running faster while more screams tore through the air.
Once the smoke had finally cleared, what stood in the midst of a growing pile of gore, limbs and mauled bodies was a hulking skeletal figure wearing segmented red and golden armor with a helm that boasted two horns, one that nearly curved around his head and another cut in half. His skeletal visage was on full display through the opening on his helmet, showing off a disturbing skull-like grin with glowing orbs filling his sockets.
"Oh how I've missed this feeling! The feeling of Brettish blood coating my ax!" Came the warped sounding voice from the monstrosity as he raised his ax up and swung downwards, depriving a screaming foot squire of his left arm and leg, leaving him to fall to the ground in a heap as he screamed in equal parts horror and pain. "Come now children of the lady! Your madam is looking upon you now! Are you so quick to wilt and wither when a threat to her precious rotting kingdom is making mincemeat of her servants?"
"Right here you thrice-damned abomination!" Came the cry of third knight amongst Gerome's retinue.
"Gabriel no!" Gerome cried out to his fellow knight, who had already used his horse to shove past some of the already fleeing squires, who were now joining the levies in their flight.
"Our honor has been sullied enough by that damnable necromancer and I will not allow it further abuse at this creature!" Gabriel roared as he charged forward at the creature in question. "I will-
"Shut up and die, fop." Came Krell's almost bored reply as he gave his ax a night swing, right into his armored horse.
Sadly the armor may as well have been nonexistent in the face of the glowing ax that this monster held because it went through such the armored equine with such ease that what was left was nothing more than something that resembled a horse rather than the genuine article, which unfortunately left Gabriel to fall forward with such force he landed past the skeletal monster with such force that his body seemed bent in ways it was not meant.
Fredericka was once again, stunned. "Master...how did you know how to summon Krell?" Shaking her head she looked at a just as bewildered-looking Lyle who was seeing all of this but wincing as he held his head. "Nevermind that! How are you able to summon Krell? That is something only Master Kemmler himself was able to do! Ho-
"I...I dunno?" Lyle said dumbly more to himself. "He...he just started talkin'...crazy bastard must have been what was makin' my head hurt tellin' me to say his name...Krell...Just-
"Get up you soft southerner." Krell nearly roared as he kicked the still unmoving Gabriel on the ground. After a few more kicks and then with a ruthless stomp on the man's knee, Krell grunted in dissatisfaction. Not even a twitch. It was clear the knight was dead the moment he hit the ground. "Knights of the realm. Knights of the meek would be a more fitting title for you whelps!" The undead champion growled inhumanly as he whirled to eye a nervous-looking Fabien, Gerome, and the remaining squires that had found the stones or the stupidity to stay behind. "I sincerely hope that my summoning was not wasted on such weak flesh! If so I will take care to draw out the suffering from you lot, that I could not rip from him!" The champion all but growled.
Gerome said nothing in return. What could he say? That he was equally shame-faced and terrified? Shame-faced because he had failed in his one duty as a lord to defend the town that had been given to him? Terrified because he was slowly beginning to realize just how much the lady couldn't protect when confronted by such horrific creatures? For years he had waited for a chance to prove himself. A chance to show he was a worthy knight of his station. A worthy noble. A possible worthy grail lord perhaps down the line should he find lording over the peasantry unsatisfying in time.
All of it seemed to mean so little when confronted by a creature that seemed to bathe in the pits of damnation themselves as said creature moved forward, clearly raring for more victims to butcher with his mighty axe.
For a moment he could do nothing but watch as Krell stalked forward, intent on shedding blood to satisfy his blood lust when in the corner of his eye he spied Fabien raising his sword.
"Gerome...Go to castle Artois. Rally what men you can and inform Duke Chilfroy what is happening here."
"But, to quit the field here." Gerome nearly spat out, glaring out in anger and fear at the perpetually grinning skeleton coming ever so closer to them. "The shame that it could bring to us wo-
"I'm afraid that such shame must be yours to bear alone my friend."
"...Fabien what ar-
"Someone has to slow this beast down." And without warning Fabien slapped the flat of his blade against the rear of Gerome's horse, causing the beast to rear and neigh, twisting and turning in the opposite direction away from Krell and flee with its rider barely hanging on.
Gerome wanted to stop. He wanted to pull on the reins and calm the beast down. Leap off of it if he had to, pride of his noble station be damned and to go down with the ship he steered right into a wreck.
And yet he couldn't. He couldn't even bear to look back. He dare not do anything but allow his horse to take him from the battlefield as his body remained rooted in place. Was it genuine fear that kept him from going back? A sense of duty to his lifelong friend with who he swore that he would gain the lady's personal favor? Was it because he knew that going back would change nothing now, but his own death and his liege lord, his cousin by law would be unprepared for what was to come?
Whichever the reason, Lord Gerome of Gisoreux felt himself almost robotically change course on the reins, angling to avoid the town he had been sworn to protect and go on a course to go past it instead. Straight to castle Artois as his friend bid.
He was glad that his helmet concealed his face, even if no one was nearby. The shame of seeing his own tears would have made him fall into despair right then and there.
A/N: So yeah. Thanks for reading the story thus far and please let me know what you think of the story so far. Was the description of the battle satisfactory? Which characters do you like the most? What do you think will happen next? I appreciate any and all feedback you can give me, so that I can make the story better for you and anyone who might like the idea of coming along for the ride.