Preithorian Wars: Raising of a Warrior

Chapter 1: Somewhere in the Aosthor Forest, 15:27 hrs.

8 M 847 October 14, 43rd year of the Imperial Occupation of Arlen

Hardly so much as a breeze made its way along the moist dirt path that winded through the thick growth of the forest. Tens of thousands of leaves belonging to the many oak, hickory, and maple trees barely even rustled in the stillness of the dense forest air. All remained unstirred and settled much like the calm that indicated the inevitable arrival of a storm. And while the figures of three dozen men cloaked and hooded in camouflage knelt low to the forest floor with even greater stillness than the vegetation that surrounded them, each and every nerve and blood vessel in their bodies pulsed anxiously.

Yet none pulsed with more malcontent, unease, or vigor than Maj Lanton MacGreer. The Major was never well known for having much patience. Quick to action and even quicker to lose his temper waiting in the forest was always his single most despised activity. However, he understood the strategic value of their current position and the absolute necessity to remain perfectly still. Though his scouts still had yet to return with word of their target’s position it was critical for the Major to instill as much discipline in his men as possible, especially those who were recently recruited amongst his ranks. Such patience as was being exercised by his men paid a massive toll on their physical and mental endurance, but would ultimately shape them into outstanding guerilla fighters. Thus making each and every one of them ideal for combat during a time of revolt.

A soft rustling of undergrowth reached the Major’s ears. With immense annoyance he clenched his ridged jaw and rolled his dark brown eyes. He knew exactly who was approaching him, and had a fair idea as to why. Surely it had to be his 1st Lieutenant, Thomas McCleary, wanting to know how much longer it would be before the target arrived. Fighting the overwhelming urge to turn and give his 1st Lieutenant a good thrashing with his stout recurve bow the Major simply continued to gaze off up the north end of the path hoping that an answer to the soon to be asked question would appear. Lt Thomas McCleary came to a muffled stop in a squatting position approximately one yard from the Major’s left side. He always felt uneasy being close to the Major and preferred to maintain some distance at all times just in case the Major completely lost what little of his temper remained and lashed out at him.

“Sir, do you think they could’ve taken another route?” whispered McCleary. His face was soft and kind underneath the thick layer of paint that camouflaged him. He wore an expression of earnest and his blue-grey eyes appeared to appeal to the Major’s empathetic side, which only applied during matters of strategic importance and combative response. Unfortunately the Major didn’t see any of this as he refused to tear his gaze away from the north end of the path.

“And what good would that do for our enemies, McCleary?” countered the Major in a whisper full of malice. “You think they’d be heading for Ft Albany instead of Ft Elderly?”

“It’s possible,” shrugged McCleary. “They would’ve reached the fork nearly an hour and a half ago by now. If they’ve re-routed we still have time to intercept them.”

“At twenty-five miles down that path, McCleary” growled the Major. “Ft Albany is forty-one miles from the fork, whereas Ft Elderly is only seventeen miles from the fork. At this hour do really think that they’d change their course from Ft Elderly to Ft Albany instead? Or that we’d have a better chance at ambushing them in the dead of night after a twenty-five mile trek through brush and bramble and her Grace knows what else?”

“Well, sir, we’d only have to trek for less than twenty miles to intercept them,” added McCleary.

“Through overgrown mountainous terrain, McCleary,” spat the Major slowly turning his head to deliver an intensely piercing glare at his 1st Lieutenant. “Which means going up and fucking downhill, jackass. And while you may never tire from lack of sleep or roughing it through this damned forest the rest of us would rather wait here where they’ll be showing up any fucking minute now.”

“Sir, I only ask because…” started McCleary.

“Because why, McCleary?” interrupted the Major. “Because you feel like going for a hike instead of just sitting here? Because you lack faith in the abilities of my scouts? The men I hand-picked to do their fucking job at scouting? Or because it’s been two and a half fucking hours since we first got here, and those damned imperial bastards should’ve been here right around the same fucking time? Please tell me, McCleary, tell me. Because why?”

“I only ask because I fear that the men are becoming far too fatigued from waiting all this time to do much good in a fight, sir,” mumbled McCleary. Upon hearing this genuine concern the Major stared at McCleary for a long moment realizing he had been unfairly harsh to his 1st Lieutenant, a man he had entrusted with ensuring the care and well-being of all his troops. McCleary lowered his head to stare at his own feet, engulfed in a sense of rejection. The Major turned to look up the path once again. Seeing nothing but the same empty scene he very deliberately took a deep breath in through his nostrils followed by a long sigh.

“Perhaps you’re right, McCleary,” whispered the Major in a steady voice. McCleary’s eyes quickly snapped up in hope to gaze upon his commander. “Tell everyone to rest for now. Until Sgt Kerrel and the other scouts get back there’s no point in tiring ourselves needlessly. We need to be ready for when the enemy does finally show up. And make sure that Capt Tavon and his company on the other side know to rest as well.”

“Aye, sir. I’ll get right on it,” replied McCleary. Remaining low he turned and tromped off through the foliage that grew along the path. His rustling was much louder than when he first approached. A slight smile broke the Major’s harsh face as he shook his head ever so subtle. Fixing his position he sat at the roots of a massive hickory, leaned up against its trunk, and continued to watch up the path.

After several minutes McCleary came shuffling back to the Major’s position. Kneeling before his commander he stated, “Sir, all the men are resting now, including Capt Tavon’s company.”

“Very good, McCleary,” replied the Major. “That was some good work you did back there.”

“Telling the men to be at ease, Sir?” McCleary asked puzzled. The Major rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head slightly failing to hide a faint smile of amusement.

“For reminding me not to fatigue my own men before they’ve had the chance to kill some imperials,” he said. “I would’ve kept us all in a ready position for the rest of the day. That’s no way to fight.”

“Well they are just imperials, sir,” remarked McCleary. “Most of the men here can take them in their sleep. This’ll be a cinch.”

“Don’t get cocky now, McCleary,” advised the Major. “Imperials all around may fight like shit, but even those damned Thessilian bastards have earned their merit as soldiers. They won’t just let us kill them. We have to be far more superior over them. We have to be more cunning, more precise, more agile…”

“More brutal, sir?” McCleary added hopefully.

“Aye, far more brutal,” the Major agreed. “Something tells me that you already have that down what with that hatchet of yours. Did I ever tell you that I don’t think I’ve ever seen an axe-man with even the greatest of battleaxes spill as much enemy blood as you with that little thing of yours?”

“No, sir,” answered McCleary. “But it’s not the size of the axe that matters, you know. It’s how you use it.”

“Is that what you tell all the fillies at the brothels?” joked the Major letting out a single raucous bark of laughter. McCleary’s face flushed as he chuckled at the Major’s comment.

A loud snap of a fallen branch breaking suddenly stirred the heavy silence of the forest. The Major sprang up from the base of the giant hickory. Both he and McCleary simultaneously pulled an arrow from the quivers they had slung across their shoulders and nocked them in their bows aiming off into the thick brush that lay north of their position. Both men knelt at the ready with their bows drawn slightly. There was another rustling of underbrush ahead of them. It continued to draw closer and closer at a speedy rate. Whatever was approaching was moving towards the Major and McCleary with haste. The foliage ahead began to visibly shift. The Major observed that the same pieces of vegetation were moving multiple times as though several bodies were pushing it out of the way. He began to count the movements. As he did so dark shapes began to appear from out of the thickness of the foliage. It looked as though several large humps of undergrowth were running towards them. Both the Major and McCleary eased the tension of their bowstrings to allow for them to go slack while lowering their bows to rest on their knees.

“Finally some news,” the Major sighed with immense relief.

“Let’s just hope that it’s good news, eh sir?” commented McCleary. The Major remained silent hoping in secret that his 1st Lieutenant hadn’t guessed right about the enemies’ orders directing them towards Ft Albany instead.

A few moments later Sgt Neal Kerrel and his scout team emerged from the thick undergrowth concealed in hooded cloaks that appeared to be made entirely out of vegetation. Like the other members of the platoon their faces were also covered in camouflage paint, and every piece of clothing, armor, equipment and weaponry was camouflaged as well. Kerrel lowered his hood to reveal a thick mane of dark grizzly hair and eyes as blue as the sea. In contrast to the Major’s closely trimmed beard and mustache, his was a thick tangled mass with small leaves stuck all throughout it. He looked like a man who had spent most of his time living high in the mountains in solitude.

“Imperials are on their way here, sir,” spoke Kerrel in a gruff heavily accented voice. “Taxation convoy, heavily armored and defended. They’re at least eighty strong. Lots of heavy infantry, and crossbows guarding the wagons.”

“How many wagons are there?” asked the Major.

“Three heavy wagons and two light carts, sir,” replied Kerrel. Both the Major’s and McCleary’s eyes lit up with excitement at the prospects awaiting them.

“Holy shit, that’s a whole heap of loot, sir,” exclaimed McCleary addressing the Major.

“Aye,” remarked the Major, “but first we have to take it. Certainly explains why they took so fucking long to get here. Anything else you can tell me about the convoy, Sergeant?”

“Ten horses, all officers,” explained Kerrel. “Half in front of the lead heavy wagon, the other half behind the rear heavy wagon. One light cart in front, and one at the rear. Heavy spears along both flanks.”

“Sounds like we have our work cut out for us today, lads,” the Major said. “We need to go at this smartly.”

“And, sir,” added Kerrel, “I really want to kill these greedy bastards.”

“And that’s just what we’re here to do,” answered the Major. “McCleary, go down the line. Make sure every man knows what to expect and is ready for a fight.”

“Aye, sir,” McCleary stated. Then he turned and trotted off along the path staying low to the ground stopping at every cluster of men to deliver the scouts’ report and the Major’s orders.

“Sergeant,” continued the Major, “get to the other side and alert Capt Tavon and his company. This’ll be one hell of a fight.”

“Aye, sir,” replied Kerrel. Then he turned to address the members of his scout team. “Alright. McKinley, O’Hara, on me. The rest of you down the line and take up position. Let’s show them how recon gets it done.” With that Kerrel hustled across the path accompanied by Cpl Andrew McKinley and P1C Nathan O’Hara. The three of them disappeared into the dense wood on the other side. The remaining three scouts took off after McCleary taking up positions amongst the other men.

The Major took up position beside a thick oak. Leaning against its rough trunk he peered off up the path in apprehension looking forward to the long awaited arrival of their target. It was a great rarity to have an imperial taxation convoy make its way through this part of the forest, and especially one of this size. But with the sheer number of soldiers guarding the wagons he and his platoon would be outnumbered almost 3:1. Plus the Thessilian’s heavy infantry was no laughing matter. Pride of the Imperial Kingdom of Thessily their infantry were among the most discipline and extensively trained soldiers throughout the western world. They were tough, and would prove even more difficult to combat if allowed to form up in a phalanx. Fortunately the Major and his platoon had the advantage of surprise. His men were both very fleet and quick on their feet as well as utterly tenacious and ruthless in combat. Still they would have to go about their attack with great care if they were to live through it.

Several minutes later the faint squeal of wagon wheels reached the Major’s ears. Then the sound of metal shifting against itself followed by the dull repetitive thud of burdened footsteps became audible. Gradually the sounds grew louder, and the clopping of horse hooves blended with the heavy marching. Peering far up the path the Major could see a haze of orange and white making its way down the path. As the sounds grew progressively louder the figures of soldiers began to rise from the strikingly colorful meld. The Major could now see four columns of infantry marching down the path in rhythmic synchronization.

The first and fourth columns were both lead by Gideon bearers carrying flags atop of long wooden poles. The flag of the first column Gideon bearer was a square white flag with the bottom third being orange and what appeared to be a blazing orange sun rising out in the middle; this was the flag of the Imperial Kingdom of Thessily, more commonly referred to as the New Dawn. The flag of the fourth column Gideon bearer was also square, but orange with an elegant white border and featured a stunning crest in the center of a shield depicting a rising sun, a high noon sun, and a setting sun; this was the flag of the Imperial Thessilian Army. Behind the Gideon bearers followed the mixed ranks of Thessily’s prided infantry consisting of swordsmen, macers, and axe-men.

All of the infantry personnel wore heavy chainmail and plated steel cuirasses. Their helmets varied in shape, but were all open faced plated steel. They also wore thick leather gloves, boots and pants, and long tunics over their armor. Each tunic displayed triangular division across the chest and back that traveled from the left shoulder to the right hip. The upper right side was white while the lower left was orange. Each soldier had a different pattern design of shapes and symbols within both the white and orange fields of their tunics varying in color from white to orange to yellow. Finally a patch of each soldier’s corresponding family coat-of-arms was stitched into the fabric of the center chest. Their shields were made of over lapping strips of wood covered in a hard steel sheet, and duplicate images of their tunic patterns were painted on the shield faces including each family’s coat-of-arms.

The infantry men continued to steadily march along the path appearing exhausted from their continuous journey throughout the hill country beyond the overgrown forest. Yet their overall discipline and the prospect of filling their stomachs with venison stew and fine stout as well as having comfortable beds for the evening awaiting them at Ft Elderly pushed them forward. Behind them rode five officers armored and dressed in similar fashion to their enlisted personnel, but the patterns of their tunics and shields incorporated elaborate blue crosses; these were images of the Imperial Cross. Also the officers wore silver plated paldrones on their shoulders over the top of their tunics. The horses they rode were lavishly adorned with heavy saddles and plated steel armor guarding their heads, necks and chests. While the horses seemed just as tired as the infantry men under the burden of their heavy armor and their riders, the officers seemed mentally spent and ready to allow for their crotches to breathe after such a long ride.

As they rode farther along the path the first of the light carts within the convoy rolled into view. It was a simple four wheeled wooden cart dragged by two horses. The driver sat hunched in his seat mounted at the forward center of the cart, holding the reigns loosely and wearing a lifeless expression as if he were ready to collapse into sleep. Behind him the bed of the cart was filled with numerous supplies concealed inside either medium sized crates or large sack bundles. In addition several crossbowmen rode in the cart slumped atop the supplies. Their clothing and chainmail appeared the same as their infantry counter parts, but their armor consisted of chainmail and dense cloth fiber. In contrast their helmets appeared more like a full head cap with a round wide brim encircling the circumference. They too carried large steel covered shields bearing their individual family’s coat-of-arms, but had them slung across their backs. The fletching of their bolts protruded out of their quivers directly over their weak shoulders allowing for easier retrieval due to the broadness of the shield and the helmet brim over lapping. If they hoped to hide from an onslaught of an enemy missile attack they were travelling down the wrong path. The very idea forced a malicious smile to break the Major’s stern painted face.

Flanking the cart several heavy spearmen trotted alongside matching the appearance and demeanor of their fellow heavy infantry up front. Their spears were fashioned from stout twelve foot long wooden poles with a thick fierce looking blade fixed at the head and an equally intimidating shoe spike connected to the bottom. It was as if they were all short pole-swords with dirks fixed at the top. Sheathed in their belts each spearman also carried an additional melee weapon such as a sword or an axe, and a small implement like a knife or a dagger. Such men were the main reason why the infantry of the Imperial Thessilian Army had been considered some of the most formidable troops throughout the western world. They would surely be the most difficult opponents to be faced that day by the Major and his troops.

The lines of spearmen continued as the heavy armored wagons rolled down the path in pursuit of the cart leading them. These were massive fully enclosed four horse drawn wagons made of dense wood and armored with thick steel plating. Bright banners displaying the colors of the Imperial Thessilian Army’s crest were draped down along the sides of the wagons from each corner. The drivers rode on the left side of a bench seated at the front of each wagon holding the reigns while a bill-man sat to the right of each one. Each of the bill-men appeared as additional heavy infantry, but lacked shields due to the need of two handed use with their bills. A thick spear head, large hook like blade, and a ridged hammer head extended from the head of each bill giving the weapons a brutally violent impression. On top of and inside the crisscross iron barred caging that enclosed the wagons even more crossbowmen rode in bored silence defending the many padlocked chests of small and medium size that held what could be considered to most valuable cargo on board the convoy.

Behind the three armored wagons came the second light cart which matched the lead cart almost exactly. The line of spearmen ended as the other five officers rode to the rear of the last cart, and finally an additional four columned formation of heavy infantry brought up the rear of the convoy.

The Major watched as the five officers to the rear of the convoy rode into position. Nocking an arrow he raised his bow and drew the string taught. Sighting down the arrow shaft he came level with the officer riding in the middle of the rear group. He allowed time for them to continue down the path a little more wrapping his body around the bulky oak. Steadying his breath he waited to exhale, then released his shot. With a muffled twang his bow sent the arrow humming like an angry hornet straight into the officer’s neck just below the jaw line and behind the ear. The officer didn’t even have time to scream in agony, but gradually slid off his horse and fell to the ground with a calamitous crash of metal. Before the injured officer could even roll himself over additional arrows came hissing in striking the other officers in the weak points of their armor. Howls of pain rang out through the forest, and the officers began to fall from their horses as well or simply slumped over in their mounts. The horses started to whiny and rear up in fear as the soldiers of the convoy ceased their marching and began to turn about in a frenzied panic attempting to access the situation.

Arrows continued to find mark after mark as the Major’s platoon worked their way through the imperial ranks. A Thessilian sergeant amongst the leading formation of heavy infantry called out, “Ambush!” Other sergeants throughout the convoy bellowed, “Ambush!” as well then shouted out additional orders to their men. Cries of, “Schiltron! Schiltron!” and, “Phalanx! Phalanx!” over lapped one another partially confusing the frightened infantry. As shouts of, “Return fire!” sounded the crossbowmen raised their weapons to eye level and panned the surrounding forest searching for their attackers. After a few moments of panning they began to comment on how they couldn’t see anything to shoot or asked if anyone else could see anything off in the forest.

Finally a sergeant amongst their ranks yelled, “Just shoot anyway! Suppressing fire! Suppressing fire!” With that crossbows cracked loudly sending bolts whistling off into the dense brush. The Major and several others had to duck behind cover as bolts flew past them or stuck solidly in trees. Popping back out from cover with bow raised and ready the Major quickly sighted and released a shot at one of the crossbowmen striking the soldier in the face just below the eye. With impressive speed the Major nocked another arrow, drew back, and fired square into the middle of another crossbowman’s forehead.

The Thessilian heavy infantry raced to take up a defensive position around the carts and wagons as the storm of arrows continued to rain havoc on the convoy. With much anguish and tremendous effort the spearmen managed to form up into a dense shield wall along the sides of the convoy while their other fellow infantry rounded out the wall at the front and rear. This maneuver created an oblong shaped schiltron with the looted goods at the center. With the formation complete the remaining crossbowmen jumped down from the carts and wagons to join the drivers and bill-men on the ground hiding behind the wall of shields. Yet even with the solid defense in place the Major’s men continued to fire at the Thessilian infantry. Some of their arrows managed to find their mark burying deep into the backs and faces of the soldiers, but most either glance off or stuck into the surface of the Thessilians’ stout shields.

“Smoke and pepper!” bellowed the Major. Down the line and from the other side of the path Capt Tavon and the other lieutenants and sergeants within the platoon repeated this order. Instantly McCleary turned and ran several steps over to a large shrub where he reached down at its base and retrieved a small ceramic pot with a piece of pitch covered cloth secured over the top from a stack of several additional pots identical to the first. He then hustled over to one of the privates from Kerrel’s scout team holding the pot out away from his body as far as his arm could extend.

“Hennessey, light me,” McCleary said to Pvt Dallas Hennessey. With a chunk of flint in one hand and a rough faced rock in the other Hennessey quickly struck the flint against the rock right next to the pot in McCleary’s hand. It only took a few rapid successions to ignite the cloth in a small flame. As soon as it was lit McCleary hurled the pot at a section of the shield wall. The pot sailed between the lower portions of two spearmen’s shields crashing into pieces at the soldiers’ feet. Upon impact the contents of the ceramic pot burst into a thick red cloud of searing hot pepper. Immediately the skin and eyes of the soldiers hit by the potent fumes began to irritate and fester. Choking in pain the spearmen fumbled blindly in a desperate attempt to maintain their section of the shield wall. To their demise an angry volley of arrows sped in taking advantage of their vulnerability. Several more of these ceramic grenades burst off the shields and at the feet of other infantry men holding the schiltron. As the clouds thickened on the path more soldiers fell victim to the accuracy of the Major’s men. The ground was becoming littered with the bodies of Thessilians shot full of arrows.

In desperation the crossbowmen cowering behind the heavy infantry holding up the shield wall and trapped inside the iron bars of the armored wagons recommenced firing off bolts into the forest. McCleary grabbed Hennessey by the shoulder and the two men dropped to the ground as three bolts whistled just over head. Pushing himself up right McCleary raced over to the shrub, retrieved another grenade, and ran up to Hennessey who was crouched in the foliage in anticipation. Hastily lighting it McCleary then flung it straight for the middle wagon. The grenade past through the bars and impacted directly into a crossbowman’s face filling the entire wagon in a red pepper cloud. A few more grenades burst against the bars of the other two wagons in kind. The crossbowmen caught inside gagged and coughed in agony as the hot pepper filled their throats and lungs.

With most of the Thessilian soldiers incapacitated and the others tremendously fearful the Major slung his bow across his shoulders and drew his sword. He waited and watched as the red pepper clouds gradually diminished.

“Prepare, lads!” he barked loudly. Upon these words men from both sides of the path started slinging their bows and drawing various implements from sheaths on their belts, across their chests, and on their boots. A few seconds later the Major let out a merciless war cry and tore out of the thick woods onto the path. His shouts were matched by those of every single man in his platoon as they too rushed the soldiers on the path. Running head long into the Thessilian convoy they engaged their enemies in fierce and bloody hand to hand combat.

The Major grasped the handle of his sword with both hands as he approached the heavy infantry to the rear of the convoy. Swinging violently he caught a stunned macer in the upper shoulder cutting deep through the clavicle. Wrenching backwards he slid the blade out of the soldier’s shoulder then lined up for a lethal thrust. Charging forward he rammed his sword into the chest of the macer, and continued to pushed the man up against the rear of the last cart. Shoving the Thessilian hard against the wood work he twisted his sword and yanked it out of the man’s chest. Doing so he turned to see a swordsman stumbling toward him. Without hesitation the Major maneuvered himself expertly and swung his sword striking the soldier across the face instantly killing him. He then quickly recovered in time to stop an incoming axe-man’s attack which he skillfully countered stabbing the man in the throat just below his Adam’s apple.

McCleary wielded his hatchet and a large hunting knife with lightning speed and extreme lethality. Moving through the center ranks of the convoy he laid waste to a few spearmen before catching sight of a bill-man prepared to bring his weapon down upon his head. Having a spearman currently in a head lock he was highly exposed to the bill-man’s attack. Without a second thought he snapped the spearman’s neck with a sickening crunch and raised his hatchet up in front of himself holding the handle horizontally with both hands. The shaft of the Thessilian’s bill stopped against the handle of McCleary’s hatchet who then speedily grabbed hold of the bill shaft with his knife hand and swung his hatchet around to catch the soldier in the arm pit. In pain the bill-man screamed and sank slightly before McCleary. Capitalizing on the dealt damage he then hacked into the man’s upper shoulder repeatedly forcing the soldier to kneel and hunch before him. Continuing to hack maliciously his hatchet buried into the man’s upper back. The final kill stroke was delivered to the back of the neck severing the cervical vertebrae.

On the other side of the path Kerrel smashed his war-hammer against the shield of a swordsman sending the unstable soldier flying backwards and crashing to the ground. Before he could deliver a killing downward blow however, he saw in his peripherals a spearman approaching. As the soldier prepared to thrust his wide spearhead into the sergeant’s side Kerrel loosened his grip allowing for the handle of his war-hammer to slide through his hands until the hammerhead butted up against the top of his hand. Tightening his grip on the handle he hastily back stepped and maneuvered the handle against the passing spear shaft pushing it out and away from his body. In a continuous motion he forced the spear shaft up and over his head while simultaneously moving towards the spearman. Once the shaft came to rest against his other hip he thrust out his war-hammer striking the Thessilian in the face with the hammerhead. He then quickly turned his weapon clocking the spearman in the side of the head with the handle knocking the man sideways. Sliding the handle through his hands again he grasped hammer near the bottom of the handle and swung the head into the man’s side forcing him to stagger. Bringing the hammer up over his head and turning it in his hands he brought it down piercing through the spearman’s helmet and skull with the hooked spike behind the flat faced surface of the hammerhead.

Struggling to pry the spike from the spearman’s head Kerrel heard a loud cry, and turned to see a swordsman rushing at him with sword raised to strike. He fought hard to retrieve his war-hammer, but it wouldn’t budge. Seeing that he was out of time he released the handle and squared up against the oncoming swordsman. The Thessilian swung his blade, but Kerrel stepped into the attack and managed to catch the soldier by the wrists. Using the man’s momentum as a counter he flipped the soldier over his shoulders and sent him flying a few feet. In a raucous commotion the man landed hard on the path and tumbled several more feet. Kerrel casually grabbed hold of his war-hammer just below the head prying it loose with ease. Adjusting his grip he approached the swordsman who fumbled about in a daze trying to retrieve his sword. As his hand grasped the handle of his blade Kerrel’s hammer came down on top of the Thessilian’s hand crushing it. The man stared at his own hand in shock screaming in anguish. While the swordsman screamed Kerrel lined up his next swing. His hammer came racing around and downward like a pendulum smashing into the side of the pain stricken soldier. The impact was so strong it spun the downed man onto his back looking skyward with hardly any consciousness left. The killing blow came when Kerrel brought his hammer down onto the man’s head smashing in his face. With hardly a sign of emotion the sergeant pulled his bloodied hammer free and turned to find his next victim.

Up the path from him Capt Morgan Tavon fought with two swordsmen at the same time. Whirling back and forth between the two he used every appendage in addition to his broadsword to counter his foes. In the midst of the fight he drew a long dagger from his belt adding to his overall lethality. With a sudden burst of agility he cut into the limbs of his enemies’ with both blades, and finished them off by simultaneously slicing into their throats. The swordsmen dropped to the ground, bright red blood racing profusely down their necks. Capt Tavon then turned his attention towards a macer who stood steadfast before him. Spinning his sword through the air he stepped gradually towards his stout opponent. The captain’s eyes burning a brilliant emerald green as he stared down the Thessilian, his fire red goatee bristling with anticipation of the dual to come. He swung his sword horizontally for the soldier’s chest, but was deflected by the man’s shield. Swinging again in the opposite direction he only found the shield’s surface, his blade glancing off it harmlessly. Adjusting his angle the captain came at the soldier’s shield from above. However, the skillful macer shoved his shield forward at the last moment causing Capt Tavon’s sword to ricochet off violently. The captain staggered back slightly exposing himself to his opponent. The macer moved to capitalize and lunged forward swinging over head for the captain’s chest. But the captain managed to regain his balance and blocked the incoming mace with his dagger.

The two fought on back and forth for another ten seconds until the enraged macer swung viciously for the captain’s head. Ducking nimbly Capt Tavon barely dodged the incoming heft of the mace, his long fire red hair swishing with the air current generated by the stout weapon. Lunging forward he slashed at the Thessilian’s side cutting deep into the man’s flesh. He then maneuvered behind the soldier stabbing into the man’s neck repeatedly with his dagger. The macer slumped to the ground in a lifeless heap as the captain made his way for the rear armored wagon.

“To the wagons, lads!” called out Capt Tavon. “To the wagons! Kill them! Kill every last one of these fucking bastards!” By this point hardly any of the heavy infantry remained standing, and many of the crossbowmen trapped inside the armored wagons were still suffering from the effects of the pepper blasting. Rushing the center wagon McCleary, Hennessey, McKinley, and O’Hara reached between the iron bars ceasing hold of the blinded crossbowmen and pulling them roughly against the bars. With knives in hand they held their victims in place as they stabbed them repeatedly in the backs. The soldiers began to cough up blood as their punctured lungs hemorrhaged internally. As a finishing stroke their throats were slit wide open.

The sound of heavy iron doors creaking open on corroding hinges alerted McCleary towards the front of the convoy. A single crossbowman had unlocked the door to the lead armored wagon from the inside and was pushing it open very slowly. Seizing an opportunity for escape he suddenly shoved the door fully open and jumped out onto the path. With the commotion of combat still raging around him the Thessilian dashed off down the path and away from the convoy dodging and shoving his way through the chaos. McCleary immediately sped off after him. The crossbowman ran like a man with wild dogs hot of his trail. A few platoon’s men noticed the soldier racing towards the fort miles down the path and exchanged their melee weaponry for their bows. But before they could draw arrows from their quivers McCleary ran up to them throwing his arms of in front of his comrades.

“No, lads!” cried McCleary. “Save your arrows. I’ll take care of him.” Trotting a few paces forward he sighted his target measuring the distance as well as speed and direction the crossbowman was travelling. Raising his hatchet the lieutenant prepared to throw. Then with lightning speed he snapped his wrist forward and released his hatchet. It tumbled through the air travelling at an arch. McCleary and the other men behind him watched as the hatchet soared towards its target. Finally it struck the soldier, the head burying itself deep into the skull of the fleeing Thessilian. The man instantly fell face first to the ground sprawled on the path. A satisfied smile broke McCleary’s face as he turned to face his comrades. In triumph they patted his shoulders and commented on the excellence of his throw.

Drawing his sword out of the chest of a fallen soldier laid out on the ground the Major looked panned the scene on the path. All around him stood the men of his platoon panting and spattered with the blood of the Thessilian heavy infantry. They all looked about ready for the next foe to show himself even though every soldier in the convoy already lay dead upon the moist dirt path. Eventually all eyes fell upon the Major who after a few deep breaths climbed the center wagon. Standing on top of it he addressed his men.

“Lads, we are victorious!” he bellowed. Thrusting his sword above his head he let out a long triumphant shout. At this the entire platoon broke into cheer and shouted aloud their resounding triumph over the Thessilian convoy. They brandished their weapons skyward and gave each other congratulatory pats on the shoulders and slaps on the backs all the while cheering and shouting for victory. The commotion they made echoed amongst the trees, and couldn’t be dulled even by the sound of thunder that rumbled overhead.