The first volley tore into the ranks of the Emir's army with hideous effect. The soldiers of Al-Madin had slightly better protection, but the armed peasants in their ranks suffered terribly. A hundred or so fell when the first bolts and arrows hit, easy targets for the Anglois given the mass formation and obstacles in the form of forests on both sides. To their credit, despite taking grievous losses, they continued forward. Some were invigorated by the sight of their comrades' deaths, others were forced forwards by the regulars or their more driven fellows. The unlucky ones were dropping to the ground, being hit in the chest or head. The even more unfortunate were still living after the impact, howling in pain or gurgling on their own blood before expiring. The most unlikely, some lived long enough to be trampled to death under the feet of their own army.
"Keep moving! We are this close to defeating Edmund and his devils!" One of the regulars cried out to raise the men's spirits, but became a victim of the second volley moments later, an arrow piercing his eye and resting in his brain.
Some of the less-experienced levies started to show signs of cowardice or just wanting to run away, a blameless action, and one that could be easily achieved if they were near the trees. Once a man dashed into it, it would be hard to find them, let alone return them to the ranks. They didn't even have one of the Directorates hated Mission Representatives that ensured loyalty and faithful service to the rebellion, so the worst they could do was try to remember who ran and execute them after the inevitable victory that would occur this day. But first they had to get those men on the hill, those who had torn Mekkar to shreds, burned farms, raped their women, killed their children, and more crimes. Another volley tore into them as they neared two hundred yards.
"Almost there!" a Sipahi roared. "Then you will have vengeance!"
The soldiers roared in approval, picking up the pace as they moved up the edge of the hill. Barks and punches kept the lines in an orderly formation, and one last point-blank volley tore another hundred down. Yes, somewhere around half a thousand or more had fallen, but there were still nearly thirty thousand walking over their corpses. One of them, a younger man, was the first in line. He had prayed to the Emperor and the prophets of Mekkar to protect him, and having survived those shots had ensured him that he was protected for a reason beyond his understanding.
"Nearly there brothers! Ready your blades!" he yelled, giving the older and hardened men around him a morale boost.
The skirmishers vanished, and in a few steps, they finally found the lines of the Anglois. Shields raised, the men bearing them or behind were grim faced and unmoved by their opponents arrival.
"Charge!" the sipahi roared, and nearly ten thousand men in as orderly a fashion as possible, moved quickly to engage.
With cries of vengeance, fury, and sheer hatred, the forces of Al-Madin closed in with every step, but something was… wrong. Where the blow of an entire army rushing to collide should have come, it soon began to slow. The soldiers' feet started to sink into the ground, slowing them bit by bit, until the inertia of the more mobile ranks behind the front line made a bad situation worse. But pulling his boots through the mud that came from seemingly nowhere given the greenery on the rest of the field, the young man trudged forward. The Emperor would protect him, from the steel of the invaders, the men of the tyrants, but he held for a moment, scanning the unmoving and impassable men in front of him. One of them spat at him and grinned, his mouth a broken collection of teeth. Sensing his comrades at his sides, he lifted his sword and yelled out an oath, charging forward. He closed to swinging range and lifted his sword to strike.
A spear darted into his throat, obliterating it. He was dead before his body hit the ground.
"First blood, Simpson, you'll get that shilling as promised when it's over," Sir William Fitzwood said impassively behind his helmet's faceplate.
"Sir."
"Like lambs to slaughter," he chided as another hit his shield before cutting the mans right leg off entirely below the knee. "Peasants."
As the first wave failed to realize the quagmire they had marched into, they were cut down easily, almost without thought by the Guardsmen. These were soldiers who had been through years of combat, trained to be just as proficient with a sword as a lasgun. It had only been a few minutes since the first arrows and bolts had been fired, and the bodies were already piling up in front of the Anglois lines.
"No unnecessary exertion boys! They threw these poor bastards to tire us and send real threats against us!"
A sword hit his shoulder with a thunderous clang, causing no damage with the benefit of powered armor. He stabbed his sword into the chest of an overzealous levy, who fell to his knees gasping for breath as blood bubbled from his lips. A man behind him charged only to receive a shield caving in his face. Before he could recover, his throat was slashed by the tip of the knight's sword. Fitzwood looked on either side of him, satisfied to see the lines holding as far as he could see. Despite the onslaught of bodies, the army seemed to be holding. But this was only the first wave, just the start. Would the men of Anglerre hold? He mindlessly parried an opponent's sword and sliced the aggressors arm off with a fluid motion. Knights were trained from near birth for fights like this, and going against peasants given a few days of training was hardly more intensive than the straw dummies he had chopped through at Castle Bergwick. He had hardly broken a sweat, but the thought of doing this for an hour, maybe hours… that worried him. Would Edmund figure something out to break this?
XXXXXX
"I must say, I was hoping for something more… dramatic," Steryn said with audible disappointment.
"Ma'am, please tell me you weren't expecting some brave, noble clash of proud warriors. If you were hoping for that, you should see a duel between knights. That's the more romantic, idyllic fights. This is how war truly is. Meaningless slaughter. I apologize if it is not as artistic or fluid as your kinds understanding of war, but this is the real thing. Damn, were it not for the fact that I had to command, I'd be there hacking and slashing away. That and the Bishop wouldn't have somebody to bother while waiting in the rear."
The Prince and the gathered Leopards watched the battle unfold in silence, partly in grim observance of what was going on, and the din of battle was already so loud that one had to yell to be heard. The crashing of steel, the screams of men, the roaring of voices in defiance or orders from either side's commanders, and the sickening wet thuds that echoed off the trees on either side of the battlefield were a deafening crescendo of violence and desperation to stay alive.
"Wessyng!" Edmund barked.
"Your Highness?"
"Which one of regiments do you think will break first?"
"Y-your Highness?"
"Which one will snap? I have my thoughts on either the ones from Lundun or the Western Islanders. City folk can't take what the farmboys can, and the Westerners are as slippery as jellied eels in a good fight."
"I… I pray to the Emperor they all stay firm, Your High-"
"No shit, so do I! I'm just asking which one you think would break first, it's not a complicated question!"
Roger pondered the question, Anya watching as he did so. He shrugged and looked back at the Prince.
"The one with the worst knights."
Edmund looked down at him and nodded.
"Aye. A good answer. A good answer."
They watched the battle rage on, the bodies now so thick that it was slowing down the rebel forces even further.
"Good plan to get those Kriegers to dig right in front of us, eh? They're dragging through the mud before they even touch our boys. And now with all the bodies, it'll give us plenty of breathing room. Fucking idiot of an Emir, thinking he had all the cards. Well that harem-loving sodomite is in for a long day!"
Roger nodded, watching the Fourth Regiment with some anxiety. He still had enough friends in the regiment that he worried for its survival. It was a standstill fight, but even when the orders to rotate the man in front came, that meant less time each rotation for a rest or to prepare to get thrown into the front again. A few men had stayed with their crossbows, firing at whoever looked important. He somewhat doubted the effectiveness of that, seeing how the army was already a disorganized mess. But then again, any little bit helped, and they would need any they could get. A new noise came from behind, the trample of hooves and the clank of armor. Roger turned and closed in on Steryn and Anya, warning them to stay away from the new arrival.
"Prince Edmund, does the battle go well?"
"Yes Your Grace," the Prince said to the Bishop of Chelmster. "But it has only begun. There are plenty more enemies ahead of us, and much blood to be spilled."
"Blessed be the Emperor for ensuring the safety of our souls in righting the wrongs of the unholy or impious."
The Bishop was wearing his knightly powered armor, bearing the crest of the de Burle family, one of the most powerful in northern Avalon. He even had a sizable body guard unit, provided by his relatives for service in war. He did not wear his mitre-topped ornate helmet, but wore the cloth original with the same amount of bearing. Noticing the other Leopards, he waved his hands in a blessing.
"Remember men, thou shalt not kill is only applicable to murder. This is holy warfare against the misguided and easily convinced fools that believe our Imperium incapable of fulfilling its duty! Convince them this day of their foolishness!"
Hawke and Parky made the sign of the Aquila while Bob and Davie bowed their heads in prayer. Evita, to no ones surprise, went all the way, making the double-headed Eagle sign across her chest and going down on her knees, loudly praying for deliverance. The two Eldar looked at her blankly before turning to Roger.
"Are they always that dramatic?" Anya asked.
"Sororitas or just her?"
"Both," Steryn said before continuing to sketch.
"Actually, for a Sister of Battle, she's showing considerable restraint. I remember one time we were in an artillery barrage and an entire squad of them prostrated themselves for the Emperors Deliverance."
"They just laid down and waited?"
"Yep. To their credit, they didn't take any casualties, so maybe it worked."
Anya shook her head and squeezed Rogers arm.
"If you are victorious today and she lives, you will have to tone her down on the furor."
"She's in power armor and has a Heavy Bolter. I'm afraid you're going to have to deal with it, cause I'm not getting in her way."
"Maybe we can use Parky," Steryn said with a slight grin.
"I can't tell if she has him by the balls or its the other way around," Roger muttered under his breath.
Anya was about to respond when an black streak passed his face by inches and landed in the ground between him and the Prince. He blinked and looked back to find an arrow sticking out from the grass.
"Terrible shot!" the Prince laughed. "From this distance, not hitting a man on a horse is embarrassing. Could you do better, Wessyng?"
"I couldn't use a bow to save my life, Your Highness."
"I could!" Hawke yelled out.
The entire group on the hill looked at him, and he immediately wished he never said anything.
"I see that bow of yours, Guardsman. Come here."
Moving quickly to the Prince, he pulled his bow from its sock and strung it.
"A fine piece Guardsman. Where did you get that?"
"My father, Your Highness."
"That's yew wood. Vretan by the color. A very rare piece. In fact, the only men I know who bear such a thing are the soldiery from there. And you don't sound Vretan."
"I'm Avalonian Your Highness."
"Well, as long as you can use it, that's all that matters. Here's my bargain: see that bugger in the fancy helmet?"
Edmund pointed to what Roger recognized as a sipahi, similar to the one he faced months ago.
"Send that arrow back into that mans skull, and I'll give you this-'' he showed a Throne, worth a week or twos salary on Anglerre. "On my honor."
It was a tough shot, and Roger would have cautioned him against doing it, but a Throne was a Throne. Pulling the arrow from the ground, he wiped the arrowhead clean as he could, and set it on the string. The Royal Bodyguard, knights and men at arms, along with the Bishop and the Leopards, watched either from curiosity or amusement. It struck Roger as somewhat sick, thousands of men fighting and dying in some of the worst ways imaginable a hundred yards or so away, and here they were finding entertainment. Hawke watched his target for a moment or two and sniffed before pulling the string back. He took a breath and let the string go. Rushing ahead, the arrow flew straight and true, and the sipahi suddenly threw his head back and vanished amongst his men. A cheer erupted from all but the Bishop, Evita, and the Eldar.
"Holy hell man! What a shot! Here," he flipped the coin, which Hawke deftly caught. "Your father must have been a hell of a bowman."
"All I remember about him Your Highness. The bow and how to use it."
"Well, not in vain. Excellent work, Guardsman…"
"Benjamin Hawke, Your Highness."
The Prince nodded, but the Bishop turned to him.
"I know that name."
Hawke looked at the Bishop in confusion.
"Your Grace?"
"Don't remember where, but I've heard it. Nothing poor if I can't remember well. Hand me your bow please."
Doing so, the Bishop waved his hands and whispered some prayers before handing it back.
"With the Emperors blessing, your arrows will fly as true as that one before, and shall bring Holy wrath upon his enemies."
"Thank you, Your Grace."
All the while, the fighting raged on. Roger wondered if Kallen and the others as much levity at the moment as they had. He had a feeling they were nowhere nearby, and he could hardly blame them.
XXXXXX
"Sloppy. Primitive. As I should have expected," Moire said flatly.
"Were a compliment to come from your lips involving anything human, I would seriously believe the end of everything was in motion".
"Your humor is intact, despite everything Kallen," the Avenger grumbled. "Can you see Roger and our warriors? This location is not exactly the finest."
The twenty Scorpions and Avengers sat on the edge of the forest where Roger had left them, watching the battle unfold.
"No, but I can see their Prince. On a fine beast, looking as regal as humans want their leaders to be. Violent and immovable, but good qualities for a situation like this."
"They throw their men forward only to die in droves. May I never think any of my movements are sloppy from today."
"Not all humans fight like this," Gwyndair added. "I do find it somewhat refreshing to see a battle of melee alone. Most of their kind rely on firearms or artillery before they would approach anything similar to a fair fight."
"My friend, any fight where we oppose humans is anything but fair. Even with the war mask, there have been plenty of engagements where I felt something approaching pity."
Moire grimaced, watching the humans cut and slash each other on the edge of the hill.
"Pity is a dangerous emotion, especially in combat. I would take caution when we face the Mon-Keighs again, for it will happen."
"I feel pity for Roger and his comrades," Daidre added, searching for the dulled emotions on her leader's face.
"We all do," Kallen sighed. "I do wonder why our Ranger brethren had to pulled away at a moment like this. A few well aimed shots would make the difference. And be undetectable."
"Roger would not allow it, he specified that we stay out of this fight."
"Undetectable was the watch word."
"Irrelevant. Cruniach and all but two of his acolytes are presumably on some mission of great import, considering their movement and the fact our illustrious Farseer wished for them specifically."
"I somewhat wished we joined them, lest I have to be witness to this violent farce," Gwyndair hissed. "Have either of you received a word from Anya or Steryn?"
"They have informed me that the battle is in stalemate, and Edmund does not seem concerned. In fact, Steryn reports that he is remarkably good spirits for someone outnumbered and with limited resources. She believes he has a strategy that even we have not figured out yet."
"And what of Roger, Kallen?" Anylrch suddenly asked.
"At the Prince's side. He seems to be awaiting orders to move and deploy. I would pray he and his men are not needed."
"I fear fate will not allow it," Moire said grimly. "Were all battles so easy and riskless, we would not dread them as much as we should."
They all were quiet as they watched the battle rage on for a few minutes.
"Those Gascs are very good fighters," Anxo said mindlessly. "No refinement, but they make up for it in sheer aggression."
"Those crossbows of theirs are quite ferocious. May we never face them," Kallen agreed.
"Roger told me that their homeland is barren and mountainous. A human born there fights from the moment they leave their mothers womb."
"I wonder if the other groups of their world are any better. To live in a world where all resources are still scarce… I can hardly imagine it."
"For all our suffering, we should count ourselves blessed in some ways," Morgyn said, earning more than a few reproving glares from her comrades. "If you forgive my interpretation."
"An unpopular one," Anylrch added.
The group fell silent as one, and the battle raged on.
XXXXXX
"You would think they would begin to pull back and reform their lines, fucking amateur hour," Edmund growled. "I don't know what's worse, under or over estimating your enemy, this is pathetic."
"Your Highness, I believe they are beginning to tire us ever so slightly. We can only rage on like this for so long before short rests finally fail, and what few casualties we seem to be taking are fewer men than we can afford to lose."
"You are correct, Your Grace. But If we can just force them back ever so slightly…"
The Prince was lost in his thoughts, watching the slaughter continue. The enemy must have now been down a thousand or more men, the bodies piling in front of the lines. He could see a few bodies in red and blue dragged behind the lines, dead or wounded. He grimaced, hating to see his men laid low or dead, but war was war, and it was not in the interest of combat that one came out with no casualties. But things were going well, very well in fact. All he had to do was hold on a bit longer, watch their rear for any defenses, and then his true strike would finally arrive. As long as the lines held, victory was certainly in his grasp.
A few younger knights, squires in all but name, rushed towards him, giving light casualty reports and confirmation that the line was stable.
"Left flank?"
"Secure," the knight said in an Oxitan accent.
"Center is holding well, Your Higness."
"Good. Tell your bannerets to hold the line, deliverance will be soon!"
He saw the younger men run off, but he was suddenly filled with dread. Where-
"Your Highness?"
"Yes serjeant?"
Technically, asking for the attention of a royal was a violation of the social construct of Anglerre, but there were bigger issues facing the Prince at the moment instead of protocol.
"What regiments are on our right flank?"
"The Second and Sixth. Vretans are on the furthest. You've noticed what I have surely realized."
"They haven't reported back?"
"No. They haven't."
"Do you wish for me and my men to go and check?"
Edmund shook his head.
"Stay here, we'll need to-"
"Your Highness!" one of his personal knights cried out, pointing to the right.
Edmund swallowed, seeing a knight whose heraldry he recognized as Vretan stumble towards him, blood speckled across his on his surcoat. An arrow stuck out from his right arm.
"Throne on Terra," the Prince whispered.
A few men at arms nearby rushed to the knights aid, dragging him towards the Prince.
"Your Highness," he gasped. "Lord Diazon requests aid immediately."
"What's happened?"
"The trap ahead of our lines was not dug as well as the rest. We are holding them, but barely. I was dragged from the front line to report to you. Please, we need any help that we can get! Reserves, anything! Our lines are holding, but they are buckling."
"We don't have any. Goddammit. FUCK!" the Prince roared, ignoring the Bishop in his rage before snapping his head to Roger.
"You think you can help them?"
"Your Highness?"
"You're fresh, and you can help them. They'll take anything."
"There's thousands of them, we're only five men!"
"You've done the im-bloody-possible time and time before. I need you to do it again. I'm not asking you to save the battle, I just need you to go there and do… something. I know it's only five men, but you've given me miracles more than a few times now. I need you to try and do that."
Roger looked grimly at the Prince. Yes, he had done the impossible, but it was all relying on stealth, small units, and more importantly, the Eldar. Was he lucky? Most likely. Enough to save an entire regiment and the entire army? That was doubtful.
"Your Highness, I will try."
"That is all I ask, Roger. Win or Die hard."
"We do not need much to prepare, but farewells and such-"
"Of course, but make it quick, the Vretans are damn good fighters, but if they break, this whole battle is finished before I can save it."
Roger nodded and turned to call his men, but found them already formed up.
"We're in it now, aren't we boss?" Hawke said.
"We are. Say your goodbyes to whoever you need to and get ready to move. We've been lazy enough. We're earning our pay for once."
"Bloody hell, I was hoping to die someone a bit nicer," Davie shrugged.
"Aye," Bob said.
"I'll say goodbye to Eve, and I'm good," Parky said.
"Excellent. Get ready."
As his men did so, he moved to Steryn.
"I heard," she said, looking up from a well drawn sketch of the battle in front of her. "I wish you luck, and may fate protect you."
"If things go wrong, get out of here. Don't bother looking for me."
He pulled the portrait out of his pocket and handed it to her.
"I'll take this back if we make it. If we don't, it's something to remember me by."
She nodded, taking the parchment.
"May your destiny be fruitful," she said, bowing her head.
"May your still living gods defend you."
A hundred or so yards away, Parky said his final farewells to Sister Evita.
"I'll be fine. Sarge has pulled us out of worse. I promise."
Evita was fighting to keep her emotions hidden, and for the most part was successful.
"Your soul is under the Emperors protection now, Parky. No matter what happens, I know that is certain."
"Thank you Eve. If I fall today, don't try to stay and fight. Get out of here, go back to the Cathedral and your sisters."
"I will."
Parky frowned, unable to think of something else to say. Suddenly, Eve pulled at the Rosary on her power armors belt, lifting the beads over his head and placing them on the back of his neck.
"This has kept me safe ever since I donned my armor. If it will be as effective for you as it has been for me, you have nothing to fear."
"Thank you, Eve. I'll get it back to you if I can. I promise."
He embraced her, but she was frozen, almost unable to respond.
"Emperor bless you Eve."
"As He will for you, Parky," she whispered.
He looked back and found the squad gathered. He smiled weakly at her, and moved off. She bowed her head in prayer, in part to ask the God-Emperor to protect him, and to hide her tears.
"Right," Roger said. "We're moving."
He approached the Prince and bowed.
"We'll get it done, Your Highness."
"Good man. Best of luck," Edmund said, extending his hand.
Roger looked at it in surprise, and nervously took it.
"You will want to survive today," the Prince said as he pulled his hand back. "It'll be worth your while."
"Er… yes, Your Highness," he said in confusion.
"Go. Battle's still raging."
Roger waved his men on, rushing towards the right wing. But something was bothering him, and that was the one figure who had always been nearby, even when he didn't want her to be. But now, of all times, the Ranger who had bedeviled him was nowhere to be seen. They moved past the royal bodyguards, getting an impromptu blessing from the Bishop. They had gotten off the hilltop, where only a handful of men milled about, watching the rear as the frontline echoed with the cacophony of war.
"You are a fool," a familiar voice suddenly filled his ear.
"Yes, but I'm a loyal and honorable one."
"You are only five men, what are you-"
"Anya, I am aware! I have to forge my own path, and this is where it lead me! Of all Eldar, you should know this!"
He stopped and looked back at his men, waving them ahead.
"I have to inform our allies of our situation."
The others took this with little argument, and moved onwards.
"I am not leaving them alone for long, so make whatever arguments I will ignore quick."
"You are going to die there! For nothing!"
He stopped and grabbed her shoulders to look at her, almost staring into her soul.
"I will not die this day, but if I had to, I would die for my Prince, for Anglerre, the Guard, and the Emperor, in that order. You can yell and scream at me all you want, but it will make no difference. I understand you're upset, but this is what I must do."
Anya looked at him, wanting to yell at him or tear him apart, but she could not do it. Her shoulders slumped as she closed her eyes.
"Go. I cannot stop you."
"No, you can't."
He was about to rejoin his men, but he realized there was something he had to do. Something he had not done before, and would probably never get another chance to say something.
"Anya," he said, looking into her now open eyes, pulling her right ear nearly to his lips.
He whispered something. Three words, none more than four letters. Something he had been terrified to say for a long while, that he thought he never would. That maybe he had been afraid to, rightly or wrongly. But he had one chance to say it, and he did. He let her pull away, seeing her face frozen in shock, her lips quivering.
"Roger…" she whispered.
"We'll discuss it more when we beat these bastards."
He winked at her, let her go, and rushed off to find his men. Anya's heart and mind fought each other, one wanting to rush after him, the other knowing that nothing she would do could stop him. She was thankful for one thing: that her hair, let down to conceal her Eldari features, hid her beaming red ears, and her equally flushed cheeks. She took a shuddering breath and swallowed before walking back to Edmunds position. She gently touched the communication device she wore.
"I wish to update my report on the battle," she said coolly.
XXXXXX
"It seems he is being thrust into a weak point of their line," Moire informed the rest, continuing her vigil on the battle ahead. "The rest of his squad as well."
This was met with, what else, but grim silence.
"We must stay and prepare to leave this position," she added. "I fear the forces of Anglerre will not hold for much longer without reserves and securing their flanks."
"The humans are made of sturdier stuff than initially believed," Gwyndair cut in. "I would not throw them to the wind just yet, Avenger."
"Then you are a fool with no ability to understand them. Mon-Keigh are fickle and easily breakable when all is lost, and that time is nearing. I do fear for Roger and our comrades, but I am a realist above all."
"Very well."
"Kallen, we should gather our warriors and prepare for departure."
The Scorpion watched the battle for a few moments before he quietly sighed.
"Very well."
"I am glad you agree."
"I do wish to ask one of your Aspect their opinion, if you allow me."
Moire crooked her head slightly at him before nodding.
"Morgyn. You have a view of the universe vastly different from ours. I want to know what you believe we should do."
There was a silence, but not one he didn't expect. To suddenly ask such a question from another Shrine was unexpected. But then the silence turned more and more conspicuous, and he turned to face the gathered warriors behind him.
"Are you too afraid to speak?" he chuckled.
But the silence continued. Suddenly, Avengers began looking at one another before Daidre gasped.
"She's gone!"
"What!" Moire said in exasperation.
She counted the black armored figures in the group and-
"Khaine's blood!"
There were three Avengers absent. Kallen counted the Scorpions.
"Two of my warriors are missing as well. Cael and Rhis."
"Morgyn, Anylrch, and Dewyn," she snarled. "They refuse our orders and Rogers as well! Daidre, you will take another warrior and try to find and stop them."
She looked to Kallen for support, but to her astonishment, found none. He merely sat down again and watched the battle.
"Kallen-"
"They follow their own path. Fate is fickle."
He watched a Haikk soldier get beheaded by a Gasc with a ferocious blow in the distance and smiled.
"I will not stop my warriors. And in earnest, sword-sister," he looked to Moire and smiled. "I do not wish to."
Moire frowned and turned to the battle again, waving Daidre to stay. Five humans could do little for the battle ahead. For reasons she could not understand, she felt a slight… comfort, in her warriors desertion. One was worth a hundred or hundreds of the best trained humans. So there was a chance. A slight one, but it was there.
Five Eldar could be enough.