You briefly detach from Elya's side and ride the small distance between you and your reserves. The light cavalry commander rides his horse up to yours. He is nearly forced to shout above the roar of nearby combat.
"Orders, Marshal?"
"Take your contingent down the right, toward the woods. Enter and follow the path north, and you'll find a smaller crossing. Take your men over, form up, and set their camp ablaze."
The soldier nods, expression grim. "Understood."
You briefly exchange salutes before you head back to Elya's side.
Next
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Vjeran rides at the head of his column of fifty as they make their first steps into the Atiming Forest. He scans the thick wood around him. The forest feels strange in winter, so devoid of life.
A small smile slides onto the commander's face. He loved to ride in the winter, to feel the cold wind whip through his hair.
Now he wears a steel helmet, riding off to kill.
The column is far from stealthy. One cannot easily conceal the noise of fifty horses and their heavily armed riders. As they ride, the sound of the battle grows quieter and more distant.
After a few minutes, the sound of bloodshed is gone.
But it is replaced by another.
Vjeran is a military man. He can recognize the sound of violence. But this is coming from a new source, not the battle raging on far behind him. As his column draws closer to this sound, he holds a fist in the air to signal for the men to halt.
He leans forward on his horse, peering over at the river crossing.
He curses.
Rebel horsemen, perhaps two hundred in number, are attempting a crossing. The crossing, however, had been seized earlier in an ambush. Fifty men of the retinue had been placed here as a safeguard against such an attempt.
But this small force is hardly enough to force back a band of two hundred mounted knights, even with the river advantage. Ten of the loyalist infantrymen lie dead, while another ten have lost faith and begun to flee.
The remaining thirty stand shoulder to shoulder in a shieldwall, fighting against the twenty or so knights who have already managed to cross. The remaining knights are either crossing through the river, waiting on the bank, or lie still, struck down in the snow.
He turns to the man riding beside him, a wide-eyed youth, much too young to survive the imminent skirmish.
He says to the soldier, "Kid, get the hell over to the Marshal. Tell him that the rebels are crossin', and we're gonna need backup."
"S-sir?"
"Now! Ride, boy, ride!"
This is all the prompting the young man needs. He turns his horse around and sets out at a fast gallop.
Vjeran shouts to his riders to form up on him. The men comply, turning their column into a line, constricted to ten men wide by the thick Atiming Forest. By now, the rebel riders have spotted his riders.
But the commander knows he has but one shot. The enemy knights have few of their number across. Outnumbered and under-equipped, his only chance is to force the knights back and hold the crossing until reinforcements arrive.
Vjeran draws his blade and orders the riders forward.
Next