Pyxis ordered her troops to halt and they all turned their attention on the Nails. Cunx stopped beside her, his eyes constantly scanning for signs of entrapment, that they had them surrounded. She, however, kept her eyes on those before her, looking for the knight Castor who had marked her arm. Pyxis knew he was one of them, staring back at her.
‘We are not in a position to charge at them, general,’ reminded Cunx, at the sight of her tightening her grip on the pommel of her saddle. ‘It would be suicide.’
‘No, suicide is fleeing and having them run us down.’
‘So we are just going to stand here waiting?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Some kind of plan coming that will get us into the history books?’
Pyxis turned her head and looked at Cunx. ‘Just kind of working on not dying here. That good enough for you?’
‘Not dying sounds good. Stick with that, general.’ He emphasised the last sentence. There was a hint of concern in Cunx’s voice that betrayed his thoughts that she would do the opposite and the slaughter would begin.
Pyxis looked back at the Nails. Cunx was nervous and had every right to be. This was the enemy that had butchered thousands of her countrymen in the Gorgon Pass. They were elite cavalry, professionals. Most of her warriors had been given a horse because they said they could ride, nothing said about fighting from the saddle. But at the core of her troops were her guard, always teaching, always learning, adapting to the enemy. It would all come down to field position. And this time the enemy had it.
The Nails drew their weapons, the steel caught the sunlight and became beacons of light as they raised them above their heads. Oh God, she thought as their commander ordered the charge, kicked in his heels and came hurtling down the hill toward them.
Her jaw was set, her lips a hard line. Pyxis was determined. No matter what she decided this was going to hurt.
Fuck it
. She drew her blade.
‘Charge!’ she screamed. Better to die fighting then with a sword in the back. She urged her horse forward and up the hill. The others followed her lead. It was tough going getting any kind of pace up as the Nails came barrelling toward them.
Just before the enemy were on top of them spears were hurled into the sky, launched with accuracy at her warriors. Urging her horse to the right, she barely managed to avoid one coming toward her. Her right eye followed the weapon as it flew, mere inches from her face. It seemed like long minutes as first the spearhead came past and then the shaft of the weapon, twisting slowly, so slowly that she could make out the pattern of the grain in the wood. The woman behind her was not as quick and it cleaned her up. Her screams seemed like faint whispers as Pyxis rode on, eager to find the one who’d marked her.
The two lines hit in a storm of steel and flesh. Pyxis parried the strike aimed for her neck and struck back finding nothing but armour. Cursing, she continued to push up the hill, needing the advantage when they charged again. In the background she heard the screams of the dying and hoped that her ears weren’t magnifying the sound. Pyxis pulled up and swung her horse around after clearing their line, surveying the damage and looking for the enemy. Her eyes ran over the dead: only two of the Nails had fallen, their plate armour standing out amongst the twenty or so of her own people. Pyxis scowled at the sight and turned her hatred upon the enemy. As her troops amassed behind her the Nails did not slow and turn for the second charge but continued down the hill toward the woodlands.
‘Fucking hell!’ she screamed. ‘After them!’
Her mount reared up on its hind legs, took a few staggered paces forward before leaping into the air and down the hill. Her scream came from the bottom of her lungs. She knew the distance between them was already too great. Racing down the hill, her horse trod on one of the dead bodies, a sickening crunch coming from the corpse. Travelling ever faster, her eyes tricked her into thinking she was gaining but her brain knew better. She watched as they entered the woodland through various trails. With practiced order, the Nails split and moved to single file and poured into the shadows of the trees.
Pyxis pulled up and her company instinctively slowed behind her. She looked left and right, tried to determine which way round would be shorter. Following the enemy into the woodland would mean death — traps and ambushes could lie in wait around every corner. No, it was best to circle the pocket and wait for them to come out.
Over the rise came the first runners, weapons in hand and screaming. Pyxis turned at the deafening noise as a unit of Kyzantine infantry came hurtling toward her position. They slowed when they realised the enemy were no longer in sight and the captain emerged from the throng, a robed bishop by his side.
‘General,’ the captain saluted.
‘May the One God bless you,’ the bishop intoned.
‘Where have you come from?’ Pyxis asked.
‘Straight from one of the training grounds, general,’ the captain answered. ‘We were ordered to Cerebus Valley to support the attack at Black Claw. We were further north when we heard the battle and I ordered the troops to race to the scene. Unfortunately we were too late and the enemy has fled.’
Pyxis glanced at the faces in the crowd of soldiers before her. They were children. No one looked over eighteen summers, bar the captain and the bishop.
‘Fresh recruits?’
‘The young are always the most eager to impress and do the work of the One God,’ the bishop bellowed, bringing grins to those closest soldiers who could hear.
‘Well then, captain, I have a job for you and your unit. The enemy fled on horseback into the woods. There are about a hundred and fifty men left, some wounded. I want you to flush them out. Set up a line and make sure you force them out of the woods. My cavalry will circle around and be waiting for them to emerge.’
‘Yes, general,’ the captain saluted and ordered the infantry into the woods.
‘A moment for a blessing?’ the bishop asked.
Pyxis didn’t want the hold up but thought better of it, it would maintain morale. Nodding, she let the bishop have his moment. He turned to the troops and his booming voice cut through the air.
‘The One God protects his charges on this holy crusade. Do not fear the enemy’s blade in the service of your beloved Empire. For if thou die in service of your Emperor than he will welcome you to his arms in the afterworld. Have courage, be fearless, go forth.’
‘Move them out captain,’ Pyxis ordered as soon as the bishop had spat out the last word.
The infantry made their way to the edge of the woods and disappeared slowly into the shadows within.
‘Cunx, take half the troops and head around on the right. Don’t stray too close to the trees in case of ambush. Look for any sign that they might have left. Engage them if you can.’
Cunx turned and half the company peeled away and followed. Pyxis stared into the shadows of the trees, felt as though she was being watched back.
‘Let’s go,’ she reluctantly ordered and rode off to the left.
Lucas rode up the trail, his horse panting underneath him as he finally caught up with the rest of the unit. Hydrus was waiting impatiently for news.
‘The cavalry hasn’t followed but there is a whole unit of infantry moving into the forest. Spread the line wide too, trying to flush us out.’
‘Do they have dogs with them?’ Volans asked.
‘Not that I could see or hear,’ Lucas replied.
‘Well that changes things doesn’t it,’ Hydrus said with a smile. ‘Who’s thinking what I’m thinking?’
Castor’s face lit up. He knew what was coming. He wanted it. The Nails were brutal at this sort of thing and this unsuspecting infantry had no idea what kind of ambush they were walking into.
‘How long do we have?’ Hydrus asked.
‘The better part of an hour, but maybe a bit less once they get moving in the forest,’ answered Lucas.
Hydrus looked around at the surrounding scenery. Volans and Castor did the same, searching for the signs of the perfect ambush. Trees, low-lying shrubs, fallen giants, empty stumps. This place had it all.
Turning to face the men, Hydrus spoke with all honesty. ‘Nails, this is the perfect opportunity to show the enemy just how good we are. There are five hundred Kyzantine infantry searching the forest to flush us out. They are not to leave the forest alive.’
‘You have ten minutes to change, camouflage, and move out. This is the line they do not cross. The wounded will take the horses further through the woods and wait for us to return. I will hold the centre, Volans the north, Castor the south. Work in small teams, be silent, be unseen.’
The Nails moved with unforeseen speed, stripping their heavy metal breastplates, gauntlets, and the like, opting for the lighter, more flexible armour.
Castor leapt from the saddle, unbuckled the straps, and let the armour drop to the ground piece by piece. Grabbing his leathers from his saddlebags he threw it over his head and buckled it with nervous fingers that still managed to do it without fail. What could fit he put into the saddlebags, the breastplate he tied to Virtue’s pommel.
Taking the offered rope he slid it through Virtue’s reins and passed it along to the next man, taking the moment to run his hand down the side of her head. Castor reached up behind the saddle and detached the leather case his bow lived in, removed it, and strung the line. He propped it on his shoulder and slung the quiver over beside it. Retying his belt, he adjusted his scabbard and fingered the hilt of his knife.
He moved off to the south, waited for about a third of the men to join him as the horses were led away by the wounded in the background. When he guessed all that were coming with him had gathered, Castor moved off at a jog, building speed up as he raced between the trees along the many possible paths. The group raced behind, each taking his own path, over and under and around the environmental obstacles that would be their cover. In groups of two and three the men peeled off from the pack, taking up positions along the invisible line that Hydrus had indicated the enemy were not allowed to cross.
Eventually Castor had moved as far south as he guessed the enemy line would spread to and slowed, turning his head to see that Ron, Aron, and James had remained. He nodded and smiled inwardly, glad that he had these men at his back. He knew this was going to be brutal. The three men dispersed, James headed straight for the nearest tree with a bow slung over his shoulder, bounding up it with two quick strides before his hands latched hold of grooves and he worked his way up amongst the branches.
Ron and Aron moved forward, blades still strapped at their sides, looking for suitable cover. Ron moved to a broken tree stump, squatted down and perched readily behind it, a small fern covering his left side. Aron pulled the hood of his dark linen shirt over his head and wedged himself in tightly beside a fallen tree. Within seconds Castor could not make out the silhouettes of either man. Searching the branches of the tree James climbed, Castor could not see him either.
Leaning back against a tree he judged he had plenty of time to wait before hearing the enemy blundering through the forest toward him. Thoughts raced through his head about similar training in the forests back home. The only difference was that Argol wasn’t beside him talking nonchalantly away, giving the attackers their position. He had never been able to take anything seriously.
The shouts drifted on the breeze and he peered around the thick trunk. The Kyzantines were spread out in a jagged line, approaching closer by the minute. Taking his bow to hand he quickly nocked an arrow and waited for them to get into distance before he pulled his arm back.
Through the tree line he spotted them, a group of men moving around further south down by the brook. They all looked young and fresh and he wondered if they had sent kids in against them. They were much further away and would have to be dealt with later, he just had to remember that he could be outflanked once the massacre began.
Castor waited for the enemy to move closer, waited even longer for those walking behind the forward pack to advance beyond Ron and Aron’s positions. He waited for Ron to emerge from behind his stump as a man walked past, pulling out his knife and running it across the exposed neck, silencing the man with his hand over his mouth as he dragged him down to the earth.
Aron stood up less stealthily behind a woman and with one swing of his sword cleaved her from collarbone to hip as she let out a dying groan. Her body fell and he too was gone, disappeared back into the forest greens and browns. The slightest whisper of a loosed arrow sailed toward them and Castor noticed a man fell, the shaft buried deep in his chest.
Now was as good a time as any to start. He rounded the tree trunk, pulled his arm back, trained the point on a target and let loose. Before the arrow thudded into the man’s eye Castor had already reloaded and was looking for another victim. Releasing, the arrow took the woman through the neck as the rest of them realised the ambush had started and raced for shelter. They searched vigorously for the archers.
Screams echoed through the forest all across the line as the Nails emerged and took on the infantry. Confused shouts and hurried orders filled the air. Castor saw a glint off swinging metal as he moved further south, ducked low as he ran, not sure if the enemy had archers. He saw a shape off to his left and assumed the shadow was Ron. Nocking another arrow he witnessed Aron’s blade plunge into a man’s chest and aimed for the Kyzantine who was moving against Aron’s back. The arrow hit and Castor took off running, hand reaching for the quiver. He pulled out another shaft and nestled it comfortably in the bow’s groove. Winding his way amongst the copse of trees, he saw the earlier group approaching from the south. With a quick inward breath he darted forward, bobbed and weaved before stopping mid stride, balanced, and fired first one shot then another into the front runners.
Slinging the bow over his shoulder he scooted underneath a low hanging branch and waited, watched as the group split up. Smiling, Castor headed after the closest. The man held a shield protectively out in front of his body waiting for the arrows to thud into it. Rounding his victim, Castor raced out when the man’s back was turned and sunk his blade under his ribs. In one fluid motion he pulled it out and continued to race between the trees. Darting left and right, his eyes in constant motion, he caught a glimpse of a sleeve jutting out from behind a tree. Picking up speed he leapt over a small bush, gained distance without the soldier spying him. At full speed he hit the tree slightly adjacent, his right foot planted firmly, twisting around and launching himself at the woman frozen in fear. With the blade firmly grasped in two hands and raised overhead, it sliced through flesh as he brought it down seconds before he barrelled into the body. Blood dripped down his face as he rose to his feet, his chest heaving as he turned to look slowly to his left.