A young man road his horse in the dead of night. The night was dim. He did not like to ride this time of night. Neither he nor his horse could see well. He rode tonight because the cavalry commander Albert Dain said he had too. His horse trotted in the night with the other forgotten sons.
The sound of the second core men screaming filled the night. The cavalry detachment rode through the night. Their commander Albert Dain known as the most loved bastard was not with them. The cavalry made of second sons and bastards cursed him as they rode closer to the sound.
The young men saw a lantern in the distance. A group of ten infantry marched in the direction of the screaming. The first two men in the formation where breathing heavy.
"Who are you men?" shouted the lead rider.
"The slowest men," shouted the corporal in charge. "The second core got spread out chasing our standard. I am collecting up the stragglers. If you catch up to any stragglers tell them to wait for us. I don't want us to arrive to the fight one at a time."
"You guys are still heading that way?" asked the lead order.
"The standard was stollen," responded the solder. "We can't go home without it."
The cavalry passed the small formation. They kept riding passing tired infantry carrying lanterns and torches moving at a tired jog. They slowed to a walk as they heard of the approaching rear guard.
"Peasants," was whispered disapprovingly by some of the riders.
The distain for the low born was common among the bastards. The second sons generally had respect for the infantry but didn't want to argue with the bastards. Especially before a battle.
The screams devolved into shouting the occasional musket shot rang out through the night. A pair of men in tattered uniforms limped past the rider. The man on the right had bites taken out his arms and one of his hands was missing fingers. He was missing a part of his calf. His leg had been bound to stop blood loss, but blood leaked onto the sidewalk all the same. He walked only with the help of the other solder. Who was missing the right side of his face exposing an eyeball and the inside of his mouth. The arm not holding up the other was chewed to the bone.
A few of the bastards spat at the retreating solders.
"Cowardly peasants," said some aloud.
The young man wondered how well some of them would do with the same wounds. They might soon find out. They were riding to were they were coming from and a lot of patrols had gone missing in the past nights. He had seen the dead a few nights ago as they tried to dismount him while on patrol. They did not go down easy. He had landed good hits with his saber that would have downed a man only for them to continue with the same reckless abandon.
Then he saw shadows dance in the street. A huddle of human shapes surrounding a light. The shadows twisted as the huddle writhed around men shouting desperately.
"Halt!" shouted the lead rider. "Prepare to charge!"
The lead rider pulled out a firework and launched a ball of fire into the sky. A bugle call rang into the night and sabers were drawn. The young man griped his sword nervously. His horse whinnied nervously when facing the mass of dead men.
The firework illuminated the street and the horror of the brawl in front of them. The dead were eating men in some corners of the street. In between them and the party was a set of legs connected to the body of a horse.
The riders collectively gasped.
"Charge!" shouted the lead rider raising his saber into the air. The bugler played charge on his horn. The rides shouted their war cries and drove their horses into the melee.
The young man drove his horse to its top speed. He held his sword ready to strike the first unliving man he got within reach. As they passed the spider some men took swings at the giant spiders legs. As they passed resulting in a wretched scream from the monster as its legs buckled ad swung dismounting two men.
Then came a buzzing and wasps the sizes of dogs charged the riders. the cavalry man swung his saber at an approaching bee clipping its wing. The creature lost its balance and went into a spin. It bounced of a nearby horse before falling to the street behind him. The man in front of him was pulled from the saddle by a pair of the creatures that flew into the night. The man shouted and cursed at the monsters.
The rider was finally in range of the huddle. He slashed at a walking corpse as he passed not daring to slow. The dead men greatly outnumbered the living. His horse pushed through another moving corpse shattering its rotten body beneath its hooves. He glimpsed the men fighting in the encirclement. Ten men missing a lot of flesh stood in a circle striking at the horde with musket butts.
Then he was riding through the remains of the battle. A pack of large dogs ran for the alleys. In the flickering light of dying torches and dropped lanterns he witnessed many half-eaten corpses being chewed on by hunched corpses.
He lowered himself in the saddle hoping his horse would not slip and send him flying into the feast. He road further into the darkness afraid of what he had just seen. He looked up to see he had cleared the worst part of the enemy. He looked around to see ten other horsemen were with him. A third of the riders had emerged on the other side of the street.
He reared his horse around to see were the other twenty were to see no riders following. Only a figure in a cloak studded in glittering silver stones. A red light glowed in the night as the fires behind him slowly died. In one hand he had a pistol. In the other was the second core banner. He stood next to a man with no arms flanked by a pair of skulls bobbing in the moonlight.
The hooded figure laughed and raided the pistol. The rider turned his horse to ride out of range when the pair of skulls began to charge, and the faint sound of insect wings began to grow louder. The dogs emerged from the alley and only know did he notice they did not move like dogs but could imagine no other creature of that size and shape.
The young cavalryman urged his horse to a gallop away from the battle. Another charge stood no chance and would do little to save the survivors.
The pistol fired as he and his horse galloped away. It sounded like many of the riders had chosen to follow him. He had had enough of this. Whatever this was he wanted no part in it. Loot and land be dammed he would ride until he was out of the city. He would have better luck fighting the living men guarding the exits than brawling with the dead.
In his panic he almost didn't notice the riders in front of him. The men wore suits of plate and rode horses coated in armor. They wore the yellow sun on them and were charging into the fray behind him. Perhaps they would stand a better chance with their armor, but nothing changed for the young rider. The knights could deal with the monsters. He would seek his fortunes elsewhere. He road past the men happy to be alive. He slowed his horse after he passed the knights.
He now noticed he was still holding his saber. He tried to put it away but realized he was unable to let it go of the blade. He looked at his hand still gripping the sword his knuckles white he used his other hand to massage it loose. His hand finally released the blade and he felt pain all over his body. Parts of his cloths had holes in them. His skin was doted with burns. He leaned onto his horse and slowly trotted his way to the gate.
He rode for a while two other men riding with him. one somehow untouched. The other moaning about the burns on his face. Behind him he saw the part of the city they were fleeing light up. A pillar of flame reached to the sky. The young man new that Lord Brand had taken the field but kept his course. Lord Brand was a skilled mage but even he couldn't kill the vengeful spirit of Yourz.