Age of War

Chapter 18

She gave another nod. “Yes, sir.” She turned on her heel and dashed off towards the trees. It wasn’t much of a plan, but without being able to even see the rest of the army, all they could do was look after those around them, and hope enough of them survived.

“She’s going to die, Albrihn,” Rykall said to him as he turned back.

“We’re all going to die eventually, commander.”

“Do you know what the gnarls do to those they capture?”

“No.”

He leaned close. “It isn’t a good death.”

“There are no good deaths.” Albrihn walked back to his loose group of soldiers. There were a couple of dozen at most, but a few more stragglers from nearby were joining them, naturally gravitating to any sign of order in all this chaos. Morrow was doing a fine job organising them, following the vague strategy he’d devised by putting anyone with a pike or spear at the front to present a defensive line of sharp steel and making sure everyone with a bow knew how to fire a coordinated volley. The various misfits with their swords, axes and other weapons of choice designed for fighting one-on-one rather than in a unit, she had cannily sent to the flanks of the formation to protect the archers and mount a counter-assault if the opportunity arose. She’d make a fine captain, if anyone saw out the day.

“Where do we go?” Rykall asked.

“You’ve been a commander longer than I have…”

“A cavalry commander.”

“You’re with me then.” He eyed Reaper. “I’d say you can do some damage with that.”

“More than that fucking knitting needle of yours.”

“We’ll see.” Albrihn took up position on the flank, near a small group of scarred soldiers who looked like they were from the same company. They were irregulars, with no uniforms and an air of grizzled self-sufficiency. Their leader seemed to be a broad woman with a shaved head. She had sergeants’ pips tattooed under one ear in lieu of any marking on her boiled leather jerkin. She threw a rough salute in his direction. “Jerl,” she said, “Fifth Light Infantry, Fourth Regiment.”

“You know how to use that axe in your belt?” Rykall asked.

She glanced down at the mattock thrust through a loop of corded leather and favoured him with a near-toothless grin. “I can split a man’s skull from twenty strides.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You throw that thing?”

“Something like that,” she smirked.

“Anything the pikes or the archers don’t take down, you take them to pieces, Jerl,” Albrihn told her. “No foolish risks though. You stay with the unit, understand?”

“As you say, sir,” she replied with another sloppy salute.

“Commander,” Morrow called over, “we’re as ready as we’re like to get.”

“Hold your fire, militia,” Albrihn said, his voice carrying across the group, “no one breaks formation, no one looses an arrow until they come at us. We’re in no position to waste ammunition or let ourselves be rolled up by these…whatever they are.”

The shadows showed no sign of getting any closer, they just shifted back and forth. Undoubtedly they were out there, but there was no advance, no war cry, no arrows flying at them. For a moment everything was eerily quiet.

“What’s happening?” Morrow asked. She’d come to the end of line nearest Albrihn, Rykall and Jerl’s light infantry.

“They’ll come,” Rykall said. “You can bet your undisciplined arses on that.”