Iron Blooded

The air was thick with the smell of smoke and ash. The slow breeze stirred the soot and blew it back towards us, making the men cough.

The Young Lord Dacon dismounted his Courser and dropped to a crouch in the dirt. His visor was raised and his face somber as he studied the gruesome sight before him.

That there had been a battle here, there was no doubt.

Men lay scattered across the ground as if thrown by the hand of some callous god.

Tents had been smashed and burned, arrows and splintered spear shafts pierced the ground around us. Among the corpses lay a broken warhorse on it’s side. A man lay across the horse, his bared head resting against it's flank. Even as I stared I saw the shuddering rise and fall of his chest.

Dacon saw it too. He rose and crossed to the man, fumbling with the canteen in a pouch at his belt.

kneeling, he lifted it to the dying man’s lips. Water trickled over his dirt smeared face and he wheezed, face screwed up in pain.

“What happened here, soldier?” Asked the Count’s son.

The Knight’s eyes were hollow and red rimmed from the smoke. When he turned his head to face the Lord I saw a deep gash on his neck weeping crimson tears.

“They came from the North side. We didn’t expect.. Didn’t .... see...”

He coughed violently and Dacon put a hand under his head to keep him still.

“The Horde?” asked the Heir. The Knight grunted In affirmation.

“Lord,” he croaked.

“I ask….can you…” fingers twitched feebly at his side.

At his words Dacon’s face grew hard.

“Bring me the Healers,” he said. “All of them.”

“My Lord,” said Ser Robert gently. He had come to stand beside the Heir, his blue cloak whipping in the gentle breeze.

“There is no saving him. He is to far gone, and we will need the strength of the Healers if we’re to face the Horde.”

He gestured with a hand towards the broken remnants of the palisades.

“My men have found no sign of the Lord Blackthorne’s forces among the dead. The tracks suggest he led a counter attack due East. He could still be fighting, even now.”

Ser Robert tried to put a hand on Dacon’s shoulder, but the young Lord shrugged it off. He stood with his fists clenched for a long moment before he turned back to the dying Knight.

“My Lord, I will-“

“No.”

Dacon drew his sword.

“He is my subject. This is my burden to bare.”

He knelt in the dirt and slid an arm under the neck of the Knight. The man gave a wheezing cough as he looked up into the face of the Lord. There was fear in his eyes, though he tried to hide it.

“Fear not,” said the Heir gently. “For I am with you. Go now soldier, and be at peace. The God King will welcome you into the halls of his afterlife.”

Then he drove his sword under the soldiers chin and held him as the man shuddered and died.

I will never forget the look in his eyes. A mixture of fury and sorrow. When the man was finally dead he rose and wiped his blade on a cloth.

“Have the men scrounge what they can. If there are usable supplies, let us not let them go to waste. Check for survivors and be ready to move out on my order.”

“Yes, Lord.”

I found Gills tearing through the wreckage of the of the Tents of the 3rd Auxiliary. There was a wildness to his eyes, a sort of frenzy I hadn’t seen before. He ripped open the tents nearest the cook fire and when he saw they were empty he stood back.

His was chest heaving, his eyes closed.

“She’s not here,” he whispered. “I have to believe she made it out alive. I have too.”

With a start I realized who he must be referring too. The 3rd's head cook, Vera.

“If her body isn’t here then she moved with the Army,” I reassured him. “She’ll be alright Gills. Don’t doubt it.”

Gills opened his eyes and blinked around at the smashed tents.

“I’m sorry. I just….”

“I know.” I said gently. “You should tell her before you loose the chance.”

Gill’s throat bobbed and he nodded. There were only a few of the 3rd that had died in the ambush. Draxus said it was because the 3rd was always ready, and I found myself hoping it was true.

We cut the cloth from a few tents that were beyond salvation and used them to cover the dead. Then Gills said words over them.

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“The Captain’s not here either,” muttered Kato when we were done. “Bastard probably made a run for it before the walls were even breached.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” said Gills bitterly. “If there was any chance to save himself I have no doubts he took it, and never mind the consequences. The question is what happened to the rest of the 3rd.”

“Still fighting... We can hope.” I said.

The Count had us ready to march out within the hour. There hadn’t been much to salvage as most of the camp had been methodically burned.

Gills remarked again how it was unusual behavior for a Goblin Horde as we stored what we could in our inventory.

“There has to be something more,” he said. “The Horde are behaving like… like…”

“Men,” I finished grimly.

We all exchanged looks, troubled. In this world, man had always fought monsters. Or at least, that is what I’d led to think. But if Gills observations were anything to go by, the Goblins and other Monsters were evolving.

“The Brood Mother,” I said after a moment. “The way she tracked us… is that standard?”

Gills considered this, leaning on his spear shaft.

“Some Monster’s are smarter than others,” he said. “What’s strange though is how she followed us. It was almost as if….” He smiled and shook his head.

“Throne, I shouldn’t think it. I’m just weary.”

“As if?” I pressed him.

Gills sighed.

“As if she were trying to stop us. I know it’s impossible but I can’t deny how odd the behavior is. I’ve been around for long enough, but that’s something I haven’t seen. If you cross out of a Monster’s territory they will often give up the chance and hunt other Game. They wouldn’t risk encountering something larger and more dangerous than themselves. It's instinct."

“You should tell the Count’s Son,” I told him. “The more he knows, the more informed his decision will be."

Gills nodded but I saw the doubt in his eyes. Maybe he was afraid the young Lord wouldn’t believe his wild theories. More likely I imagined, was his concern that his words would sound an awful lot like blasphemy.

We moved slower now that we were no longer marching in collumn.

We had been ordered into partial formation, ready to encounter anything. The hoof tracks in the dirt were deep and the trail easy to follow.

It wasn’t long before we reached the site of another small battle.

“The blood is fresh,” said Ser Robert. He held up a gauntlet to show the red staining them. The Count swore.

“We must move quickly.” He said. “Move out, now.”

We redoubled the pace of our march without complaint. The sun was high in the sky but we were shielded from the heat by a thick blanket of cloud and smoke.

One of the rear supply wagons got stuck in a muddy rut and we wasted precious minutes helping the foot soldiers lift it free.

As the cart gave an almighty squelch and lurched out of the quagmire, a shudder went through the earth. I stumbled, nearly banging my helmet on the carts wheel.

“What the hell was that?”

The ground shuddered again and I had to reach out and steady myself. I was reminded of how the rock trolls steps had shaken the ground and the blood drained from my face. I turned to share a worried glance with Gills.

To my surprise there was no trace of fear in him, as he gazed forward across the plains.

“That,” he said. “Is the Lord Blackthorne’s power. We can feel it, even from here.”

He had been right.

When the battle came into view my mouth dropped open at the sheer scale of it.

Lord Hadrian Blackthorne’s forces were locked in a deadly melee with the Goblin Horde. There were several thousand on each side and from the teaming press of bodies, it was hard to make out who was winning.

Blackthorne himself stood against Trolls and Goblins alike and did not falter. His great sword Dawnbreaker, gleamed in the sunlight as it sent Monster’s to their grisly deaths.

Every once in a while his body would glow with a sort of aura, and he would redouble the speed and ferocity of his attacks.

At one point a line of Warg riders had managed to wade through the men on his left side. Lord Hadrian had turned to them and swung his sword. I had been baffled, as the Riders were at least fifteen feet away and well out of his reach.

That was when the shock wave hit them. The sheer force of the blow cleaved two of the ork riders in half, and sent the other tumbling over each other like leaves in the wind. The tremor reached the ground beneath my boots a moments later.

“That’s…him?” I asked, stunned.

Gills smiled as we readied our shields.

“That’s the power of a gifted. They have the might to turn the tables of a battle, as do Magus. But they can’t do it alone.”

“Alright Lads,” he raised his voice over the sound of battle.

“Blades out and let’s put these bastards to the steel.”

Gills had been speaking to the ten of us, but as his words a growl went up among the other foot soldiers with us. Eyes hardened and steel was drawn as men prepared themselves for the task ahead.

The Count’s son rode with Ser Robert, shouting orders to his horsemen. I watched him slam down his visor with a feeling of grim inevitability.

I was going to have to keep this young Noble alive - and that was only if I managed to keep myself alive in the process.

Ser Robert trotted up to us, nodding at Gills.

“You’re with our foot,” he said, gesturing with the helmet clutched in his hand.

“Lord Blackthorne’s forces are pressed. We won’t sound the horn, because it will take away our element of surprise. The Count and I will lead from the rear and hold back our horseman. It’s up to you lot to hit the Horde from the right and shift the battle. Give us an opening, and we might just make it out of this alive.”

He jammed his helmet unto his head and gave us a last look before kicking his horse back in the direction of his Lord.

I gnawed the inside of my cheek, worried. For now I would just have to hope that we could route the Goblin’s before Dacon entered the field. Easier said than done. I lowered my visor.

“At the ready,” called Gills. His own voice nearly overlapped by the shouts of other NCO’s down the line. Then with a signal from Ser Robert, we began our advance. It was slow at first, a sort of awkward shambling as we pressed forward.

The sound of battle was loud now, the clashing of metal, and the thunder of the Lord Blackthorne’s mighty blows making the air vibrate.

As we grew nearer to the battle itself the mood shifted. It had been a hard trek, and many of the soldiers with us had seen the carnage at the War camp. They were angry, and that changed things.

Those at the front began to move faster, the ones at the back struggling to keep up. Part of the ranks came away, some men outright running to meet the enemy screaming battle cries.

“Hold the line,” snarled Gills. “Hold the fucking line. Idiots.” The last part mumbled under his breath.

I could see why a moment later. The Goblins might have been suprised at our emergence from the tree line, but they had seen us coming for at least several minutes now.

Many of the Horde had turned to meet us head on. One of the Goblins let out an unearthly shriek and moments later the sky darkened with a hail of black arrows.

I raised my shield and felt the thunk of arrows biting into it. Most fell short of the line, but not all.

It was the men that had broken formation who suffered. They fell by the dozens, bodies crashing to the ground stuck through with arrows. Not all of them died quickly.

We trampled over them, unable to arrest our forward momentum as the men behind us pressed us forward. I was in the second line, next to Gills and Kato. Gills was calling orders but only half of the soldiers were listening.

The eagerness for blood had taken hold.

“Come on!” roared a man from behind me. “Come on, you fuckers!”

We were pressed together now, and I was close enough to see the bloody fangs of a Goblin in the front ranks.

“Come onnnnnn,” bellowed the soldier. I heard him in my ear, felt the spray of spittle on my neck as he snarled the words.

And then, In one crash of fear, meat, and fury, the battle was met.