Blood Requiem

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Blood Requiem Page 25

by Christopher Husberg


  Her men had set up camp at the edge of the Undritch foothills, overlooking the wide Eastmaw Valley—the sprawl of land between the Eastmaw and Undritch Mountains. A narrow but surprisingly deep river ran along the base of the foothills— the Setso, according to Rorie. The Steel Regiment waited for them on the other side of the Setso; the Khalic soldiers had already engaged her scouts in a few minor skirmishes.

  Winter starkly refused to treat with the Steel Regiment. They had massacred over one hundred tiellan refugees, completely unprovoked. Nothing they could say would stop her from destroying them, utterly and completely. She didn’t care if she had to slaughter the entire regiment herself.

  “What will you do with the Cracked Spear prisoners?” Rorie asked. When Winter had confronted the Cracked Spear Keepers, a few had resisted. She’d leveraged her power with the Keepers who had joined her to take the riders of those who resisted prisoner, and had brought them here today with a plan in mind.

  Winter shivered. The sun had not yet risen, and the sky in the distance had only begun to turn from black to deep, dark blue. For a morning approaching the summer months, it was cold. She pulled her dark cloak more tightly around her.

  “I have a plan for them,” Winter said. It was based very much on what she had learned of the clan culture, so she hoped it would work.

  Rorie nodded. That, for now, seemed to be enough of a response for her. Winter was not sure the effect her plan would have, but she would soon find out. With any luck, it would not only inspire her soldiers on the battlefield today, but also win over some of the Cracked Spear Keepers that had abstained from supporting her.

  Another chill reverberated through her, and she realized the tremble came as much from nerves as it did from cold. The battle of Cineste had been an impromptu event, unlike this confrontation with the Steel Regiment. This would be her first intentional attempt at directing a battle, and eighteen hundred tiellans were relying on her. She was lucky to have Urstadt and Selldor’s counsel.

  Her scouts informed her last night that the Steel Regiment had finally begun maneuvering for a conflict, moving its entire force directly opposite Winter’s camp, across the river. Thanks to the tiellan clan riders, more than half of her force was cavalry, but the Steel Regiment still had the numbers: almost three thousand soldiers, trained and battle-hardened, if Winter’s scouts were correct.

  Which was why Winter now found herself observing the potential battlefield in the early hours of the morning, looking for any possible advantage.

  “Shouldn’t we cross the river now?” Winter asked.

  “No,” Urstadt said. “We should make them cross to us. I have heard of this Publio Kyfer who commands the Steel Regiment. He is aggressive, and hungry for glory. He will take the shortest, easiest route to us, and will assume his numbers and brute force will be enough to win the battle.”

  “If they truly want to engage us,” Winter added, “they will cross. And if they do not, all the better for us.”

  “We should advance to where the river is shallowest,” Urstadt said. She looked to Rorie. “Do you know where that is?”

  “Aye,” Rorie said. “That stretch south of us should do well enough.”

  “Don’t we want them to cross at the deepest part of the river?” Winter asked.

  Rorie shook her head. “We might want them to, but they’ll know where it ain’t possible. The Setso runs deep. The Legion will just look for the shallowest place to cross, anyway.”

  “If we are not there to meet them, they will flank us,” Urstadt said. “We want to dictate the grounds for this battle. We want to meet them just as they come out of the river.”

  Winter pointed to the place Rorie had indicated, where the River Setso straightened out, and the land grew flatter. “There, then. We advance our forces to the river.”

  “Allow some space,” Urstadt said. “We want the option to attack them while crossing, or to allow them room to form up on our side, with the river at their backs.”

  “Between a rock and a wet place,” Rorie said with a smirk.

  “Very well.” Winter observed the land. “That copse there.” She pointed at a long, narrow outcropping of trees, on a hill to the north of their chosen battleground. “Could we hide some of our forces there? Have them wait until the Legion crosses the river, then attack their flank?”

  Winter watched Urstadt, who remained silent for a moment, looking at the long, narrow grove.

  “Not sure splitting our forces is a good idea, Commander,” Rorie said. “We should stand together.”

  Urstadt narrowed her eyes. “Rorie is correct, but sometimes the unexpected is just the thing to turn the tide of a battle. How many Rangers were you thinking of hiding, Winter?”

  “Not many,” Winter said. “A few hundred at most.”

  Slowly, Urstadt nodded. “That might be effective.”

  Winter resisted another shiver. “I don’t think might is the term I want to hear when talking about a battle.”

  Urstadt chuckled dryly. “Might is the only term you’ll hear when talking about a battle. Best get used to it.”

  Winter’s mind continued to work. “If we flank them from the north,” she said, “we could hide more forces on the south, too. Take them from three sides, with the river at their back.”

  This time, Urstadt shook her head. “A river hastens down and away from the mountain, avoiding what is strong. So should we. Surrounding a larger force rarely ends well.”

  “I thought surrounding an enemy was a good thing.”

  “Not always. There is an ancient proverb: ‘When ten to one, surround your enemy. When five to one, attack him head on. When double his strength, split him in half. When equally matched, find the high ground. When weaker, know your escape. And when completely unequal, avoid him at all costs.’”

  A cold wind rushed past them, sending strands of Winter’s hair across her face. She would have to be sure to redo her braid before the battle. “Sounds like a bunch of oddly specific rules for warfare.”

  “Ain’t nothing more important in warfare than rules,” Rorie said. Then, she smiled. “’Til suddenly there is.”

  “It is important to be familiar with the rules,” Urstadt said, “so that we know when to break them. There are exceptions to every rule, but they arise in specific application.”

  Winter nodded. The sky was now a deep, dark blue, and the ground around her was more clear. She envisioned her forces where they had planned them, imagined them fighting the Steel Regiment, and winning.

  “Selldor, Rorie. Each of you will select ten of your best soldiers. They will, in turn, select ten of their best. You will take them to the grove I indicated earlier, and hide them in the trees. Wait there for my signal. Do it immediately.” She turned to Urstadt. “Let’s go back. We make sure our Rangers are well-fed and well-clothed. The morning is chilly, and we do not want them going into battle cold. Then, we form up where we’ve indicated, and wait for the Legion to meet us.”

  * * *

  Publio Kyfer had only just sat down to breakfast when his second-in-command, Razzo, approached him.

  “The tiellan forces have already formed up.” Razzo cut an imposing figure, a full head taller than Kyfer himself, and Kyfer was not small. Where Kyfer was clean-shaven and impeccably trimmed, Razzo’s full beard reached his chest, and his long brown hair was tied back.

  Kyfer had just taken a sip of mulled wine, and at this news almost spat it out all over the table his servants had just set up for him.

  “They’ve already formed up?”

  “Yes, General.”

  If the tiellans were out this early, his troops could match them. Carrieri’s criticism still stung, but if he wrapped this up quickly, he would justify his means with the tiellans’ end.

  Kyfer stood. “Form ranks,” he said. He took another sip of his mulled wine; it was a cold morning for late spring, and the warm liquid felt good coursing down his throat. Just the right form of courage. “We ride out to meet them
immediately.”

  “Sir, perhaps it is best we allow our men to finish eating. Many of them have just barely risen from their beds, and the pre-battle festivities went long, last night. I think—”

  “Razzo.”

  “Yes, General?”

  “Do I look like a Goddess-damned brothel keeper?”

  “No, General.”

  “Then our soldiers don’t need to sleep in. They don’t need their Goddess-damned breakfast. They can fight anytime, anywhere. They’re professionals, are they not?”

  “Yes they are, General.”

  “Then form them up.”

  Razzo saluted. “Yes, General.”

  It took the better part of an hour, but finally, as the sun rose in the east, the Steel Regiment moved out towards the River Setso.

  Kyfer rode out in front of his men. The horrors of battle were just as terrible for him as they were for anyone, but if there was one thing Kyfer reveled in, it was giving the speech beforehand. He loved inspiring his troops to do exactly as he commanded.

  “Countrymen!” Kyfer shouted, as he rode his horse out along the riverbank. “I see before me the greatest warriors in all Khale. We are the Steel Regiment, and enemies fear our name.”

  A cheer rose from the regiment.

  “We have experienced victory after victory over the past five years, and never known defeat. I am happy to say that today will not end that streak.” To say that they had never known defeat was arguable at best, but in the moment Kyfer didn’t care. Neither would his men.

  Kyfer looked out across the river at the assembled tiellan forces. Curiously, he could see fighting among them—some kind of spectacle, it seemed. Dozens of pairs of soldiers fought one-on-one, while the rest looked on. Kyfer scoffed. “We stand before a force that barely deserves to be called an army. They are inexperienced. Disorganized. They fight among themselves even as we speak.”

  Many of his men chuckled at this. A force that was divided against itself had already lost. Cleaning them up would be easy.

  “Not only that,” Kyfer continued, “they are also tiellans. They were our slaves for centuries, because they have always been weaker than us. They were given inferior forms, inferior skills, and inferior intellects. That has not changed. I am tempted to say that our assured victory today is not even ours to claim, but that of simple biology. An army of lambs could never stand up to a pack of lions, no matter how great in number. And we have the numbers today. There is no advantage that we do not have. There is no scenario in which we will not be victorious!”

  This time his soldiers let out a louder cheer, banging weapons on shields and stamping their feet on the ground. Kyfer nodded. This would be his defining moment. He would put down the tiellan rebellion as it began, and finally be recognized as he deserved.

  Tiellans would die today.

  * * *

  Winter rode her black mare to the front of her army. Tiellans from east and west, coexisting. Fighting together as Rangers— even those drafted from the Cracked Spear now answered to that title.

  “Lead the prisoners out to the front,” Winter commanded.

  A Ranger relayed the order. Across the river, the Steel Regiment was just beginning to move into position. Winter still had time for her plan for the prisoners.

  Urstadt was beside her, along with Nardo, the younger Cracked Spear member, who had tanned, smooth skin. He was one of the Keepers that had immediately sworn fealty to her. Selldor and Rorie had already hidden their force away in the grove.

  The sword she wore at her side was simple, something Urstadt claimed was “better than average quality,” forged of folded steel and with good balance. Winter had practiced with the weapon a few times, and felt a certain familiarity with it.

  Far more comforting than the sword, however, was the pouch of faltira hanging from her belt, and the larger knapsack of the stuff tied to her mare. She had taken a crystal early that morning, before scouting the field, but had refrained from taking another. She needed to be ready to take one the moment the battle began, and perhaps more as the battle progressed. A frost crystal generally lasted between a quarter of an hour and half an hour, but unlike the skirmish with the Cinestean City Watch, this fight would certainly extend beyond that.

  The Cracked Spear prisoners were assembled before the river, with her army behind them, still gathered around their fires to ward off the morning chill, per Winter’s orders. Winter spurred her mare between the two groups.

  Winter shouted, addressing the prisoners. “I have gathered you here to make you an offer.”

  The prisoners’ horses, weapons, and armor had already been taken from them, and they looked up at her with suspicion in their eyes. Winter did not mind. With any luck, half of them would soon look at her with respect. The other half would be dead.

  “Who among you will take up arms against one of your fellow prisoners?” she asked.

  Some of the prisoners shifted uncomfortably. Behind her, Winter’s army was silent. They would want to know what was happening here, too, and for good reason. It would affect them as well.

  “Any prisoner willing to fight another of their number to the death, who emerges victorious, will be granted a horse, weapons, and armor. That person will be given leave to return home, immediately. Any prisoner not willing to accept this ultimatum will remain our captive.”

  Murmurs rippled through the army behind her. The prisoners before her remained silent for a moment, some looking at her, others looking at one another.

  This was the moment where Rorie’s intelligence would be proven. She had emphasized to Winter the value the clans placed on strength.

  Then, one prisoner, an older man knotted with muscle, stepped forward. “I will accept this offer,” he said.

  Another, down the line, stepped forward as well. “As will I.”

  Soon, dozens of Winter’s prisoners were stepping forward, ready to accept the offer.

  Winter nodded. She motioned for the soldiers she had already assigned to bring out the weapons for the fighters.

  “This is gladiatorial combat,” Winter shouted. “One-on-one, no holds barred, to the death. You have the opportunity to return to your homes and families with honor, or die in glory on a battlefield. My warriors will oversee each combat. This opportunity will be granted to all who wish it.”

  The prisoners grinned, almost all of them eager to take Winter up on her offer. She nodded to the group of Rangers she had designated to oversee these fights.

  Her Rangers paired off and administered weapons to the prisoners—less than a dozen of the four hundred refused the challenge—and then Winter motioned for the combat to begin.

  The first scream rose up only seconds into the fighting, and soon men and women were falling left and right, while others raised their weapons in triumph.

  Winter’s army watched the gladiatorial matches with varying degrees of interest, some engrossed, many with caution, and a few—many of her original Rangers—with some disgust.

  In just a few moments, the first round was complete, and corpses littered the grass.

  “Next round!” Winter shouted. More prisoners stepped forward, weapons at the ready. Winter motioned for the combat to begin once more, but this time, as she did so, she rode out again into the gap between her army and the fighting prisoners.

  “Rangers!” she shouted. “See the meaning in the combat before you. Each of these prisoners must conquer, or die. That is exactly the situation each of us faces this day.”

  She pointed across the river, at the Khalic army. “Khale sends us a regiment of their best soldiers. The army we face represents the people who have persecuted, enslaved, and oppressed us for centuries. They have come to quell our movement, to stop the Druids, and we as their Rangers, from becoming what we were meant to become.

  “We will not allow that. Just as these prisoners must conquer their foes or die, so must we. Today we must find victory, or face death.”

  The second round of combat ended with a f
inal scream, and Winter motioned for the third to begin.

  “Should we find victory today, this will only be the beginning,” she promised. “We have not been thrown together without reason. We are tiellans, and we were once glorious. We can find that glory again. But first, we must fight.”

  Winter drew her sword. “Victory or death!”

  The tiellan army raised their weapons. “Victory or death!” they echoed.

  “Victory or death!” Winter screamed, as loud as she could.

  “Victory or death!” her army responded. “Victory or death!” They shouted it over and over again, through the last round of prisoner combat, and still as the victors were given their weapons, armor, and horses, and sent home, and still as they turned to face their enemy across the river, beginning to advance.

  * * *

  Kyfer gave the order, and the Steel Regiment began crossing the river.

  “Tell me again their numbers,” Kyfer demanded. He found comfort in numbers.

  “Nearly six hundred infantry,” Razzo said. “More than one thousand cavalry.”

  “Their cavalry outnumber ours.”

  “Their riders cannot equal our heavy horse, General. Our infantry will crush theirs with sheer numbers, and then turn to help our cavalry finish off their riders.”

  “Do you know what the fighting was about?” Kyfer asked.

  “No, General. But it thinned their ranks a bit, and another two hundred soldiers fled. I think we can count that in our favor.”

  The sight of men fighting one another in seemingly controlled circumstances, directly before a pitched battle, was an odd one. It had put Kyfer out of sorts. And if it had put him out of sorts, it had put many of his soldiers out of sorts, too, despite his attempt to spin it in their favor during his speech. Tiellans had died across the river before the battle had even begun, with no explanation as to why. In theory, that helped Kyfer’s cause, but he could not shake the feeling that it would have the opposite effect.

 

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