The day had been miserable, the continuous relentless rain had brought a wretched mood among the soldiers as they trekked along with Peyton through a forest some three days walk from Bleufontaine.
A large drop, that felt like the size of a strawberry, splashed its way down Peyton's back causing him to squirm unconventionally. Peyton grunted, his mood soured even further by the cold bitter feeling of rainwater sliding underneath his chainmail.
He looked up, determined to find the branch that was the culprit, only to be splashed by several more drops that barraged his face in anger.
For two weeks now they had been travelling, investigating foraging sites provided by the Chevalier Des Serres. Two of the four sites had been confirmed legitimate, and while the men under his command had eaten heartedly, the continuous rain that was seeping into the ground was making traversing on open terrain much harder.
Peyton could tell his men were tired from this assignment and would be eager to return to Bleufontaine and the comforts of their hastily made tents.
Every ounce of his body ached in frustration, yet with only a couple of miles until they reached the third foraging site, for the sake of his men, he needed to remain professional and alert for what was to come.
"Form line," he ordered, causing Harrold, Jefford's temporary replacement, to raise his hand and signal the order for the troops to stand side by side as they pushed forward.
Normally, Peyton would take pride in their efficiency, but today he didn't care. With almost another week of walking and investigating foraging sites, he just wanted this hell to be over; or the rain to stop.
A clearing started to appear, signalling the end of the forest. Green fields lay ahead leading down toward a lake, the grass creating an illusion for the muddied ground underneath it. The lake, itself, seemed to bleed into the horizon, its blue-tinted waters calm and at ease despite the rain continuously patting upon it.
Peyton stopped his men some couple hundred metres from the edge of the forest, giving him ample opportunity to examine the surroundings. A sigh of relief came over him when he saw a beam of light pushing its way over the lake. With it gradually heading toward their direction, his frustrations were soon to be quelled. The rain would cease to continue.
Another thick, cold drop forced its way onto his cheek causing him to grunt in frustration. He looked out toward the horizon, the substantial open ground between his men and the lake was of some concern. As soon as they stepped from the forest, they could be easily spotted from miles around, but yet the foraging spot must have been of some significance for the Ruvian's to have this location on their maps.
"I need twenty men to follow me down to the lake, the rest will remain here out of sight," Peyton ordered, causing Harrold to stomp up the line picking men suitable for the task.
Peyton took a step forward, the selected men almost instantly stood beside him. "Harrold, should we be engaged, return to Bleufontaine, and inform Sir Emhyr of what transpired today," he instructed, concern oozing through his voice.
"Milord," Harrold replied, his concern even more evident than that of his commanding officer, "but I can't, I am..."
"This is not a discussion, Harrold," Peyton rebuked, speaking with an authority far beyond his years.
"Aye milord," Harrold responded.
"Men, with me," Peyton ordered his arm raised as he took his first steps forward into the squelching ground.
The twenty men, commanded by Peyton moved forward as one unit, with Peyton constantly looking toward the horizon for some ambush, but as he stepped out of the cover of the tree canopy, nothing came but the easing rain. As the large relentless drops were now replaced with a cold, but manageable drizzle, Peyton's frustrations were starting to ease.
The steps forward felt hard, the ground between each step appeared to melt underneath him, and his muscles felt fatigued from days of walking. Peyton couldn't help but feel conflicted between the thoughts of his tiredness and his constant vigilance toward the horizon.
He was not focused, he was angry, bitter and frustrated by this long arduous journey, yet he could not deny that it had been productive. The men had eaten well, buoyed by the bounties of the previous two foraging sites, and now with fish potentially on the menu tonight, Peyton knew that he should be counting his blessings instead of being frustrated by the ground becoming slippery and harder to walk on.
With each step forward, nothing in sight, the lake continued to grow and the rain eased. Perhaps the gods were smiling on his men this day, perhaps their fish meal this night will be pleasant and heartwarming.
With the lake only a few metres away, Peyton watched as the water rippled and heaved to life, that even in the shallows of its crystal clear waters, he could see the movement of eager fish bouncing around effortlessly and what appeared to be a weightless environment.
The murmurs among the men had turned from grumbles to satisfaction, and yet, despite the difficulty of traversing the deep muddy environment, there was a desire for the men to lay down their weapons, jump into the cold serene lake, and engage in some of their most relaxing pastimes. Peyton had all but forgotten what it was like, but to see the smile on some of his men's faces, brought a delight to him and the troubles of the travelling and weather had been quickly forgotten.
As he watched the faces of his men, his happiness was quickly shattered as he saw one man staring hard at the ground in front of him. Peyton's eyes were drawn to his focus, and as a semi-crescent imprint could be seen, engraved in the melting mud, he looked along the ground to see various similar imprints, bringing fear and dread to him that he had hoped he wouldn't feel.
His suspicions were confirmed, as what sounded initially like a patter of rain started to grow into a rumble of thunder and as he and his men looked up towards the hill leading away from the forest and the lake, they all knew that what was coming would signify death and destruction.
Cavalry.
Peyton studied the sound as it grew exponentially before turning toward the forest. As he could only see the tree tops swaying in the wind he knew that they were too far, and with the ground being as slippery as it was, his men would be cut down like lambs to slaughter.
He chastised himself, knowing he should have been a lot more cautious before taking steps toward this lake. His recklessness would cause his men to die, their faces to be forever a part of the muddy bank around this lake, whose serenity did not know the death it was about to see.
"Khuthos, God of war, I ask you to give my men the strength and courage to fight with ferocity and honour in this battle ahead, Austineth, Goddess of the hunt, I pray that my men all aim true, Igen Goddess of healing, I pray that you protect my men with your ever-watchful eye and Qhyagi God of Death, I ask that if this is our last moment, that my men be worthy to dine in the great halls of the honoured. Adverbial phrases mægden hîe bêon, so may it be!" Peyton spoke under his breath, the prayer to the gods that he had spoken so many times before.
The gods had always answered this prayer before, and as the eyes of his men descended upon him, he hoped that they would indeed answer them once again.
"INTO THE LAKE, FORM SHIELD WALL!" Peyton shouted, causing his men to immediately push their way through the ankle-high mud toward the clear lake.
With each step forward, their steps became harder, the mud became looser, and as they moved into the lake, the mud pushed its way almost up to their knees.
Around fifty light cavalry had peered over the horizon, sprinting toward their enemy before they could get into formation, but as they could see what the men of Isovine were doing and the difficulty their horses were having traversing the hostile ground, their gallops started to ease, and soon enough the calls from their commander had caused the men on horseback to calm their horses just out of range of any archers.
It was the time Peyton needed to get his men to stand anxiously in the freezing water, ready, with their shields held high. He now just hoped that the commander of these skirmishes was up for a fight and not just determined to see Peyton's men slowly freeze to death in this potentially cold wet grave.
Another fifty men appeared over the horizon, fortunately all on foot and as they stepped passed the staggered cavalry, they moved into formation, holding their pikes and lances as if their lives depended on it.
"MEN!" Peyton shouted, causing his soldiers around him to instantly focus on his voice, "WE MAY BE OUTNUMBERED, THEY MAY THINK THAT THEY HAVE US AT A DISADVANTAGE, BUT THEY HAVE NEVER FACED THE LIKES OF US BEFORE! WE ARE NOT SOLDIERS, WE ARE NOT WARRIORS, WE ARE LIONS, MORE FEROCIOUS THAN ANY OTHER UNIT ON THIS EARTH! IF THEY FIGHT US, LET THEM TASTE DEFEAT IN THE ONLY WAY WE KNOW HOW, LET THEM LOSE THEIR TASTE FOR WAR, LET THEM TREMBLE IN FEAR!"
An almighty roar came from behind the shield wall, causing the lake around them to tremble with their voices. If his men could fight long and hard enough, Peyton was convinced that his men would cause significant destruction to this enemy force and that the deaths of him and his men would not be in vain.
The Ruvian footmen edged forward, their pikes and lances ready to slice into any flesh that they could find, but as they moved forward, their steps became harder, and as their feet started to sink into the unforgiving ground, the looks of concern upon their faces started to escalate.
"ARCHERS!" Shouted Peyton.
Three of Peyton's men immediately reached for their shortbows, expertly pulling back on the string, arrow in hand. The whoosh of death slipped past their cheeks, eager to find their way into the exposed flesh of advancing Ruvians.
There was a scream of terror as the arrows embedded themselves into the men causing them to fall back into the deep mud. As their blood mixed into the soil around them, they were soon greeted by another of their colleagues screaming by their side.
The Ruvian forces were slowly dwindling, but as the first few took their first steps into the water, hand-to-hand engagement was just steps away.
There was a roar from Peyton's forces, their angry faces and darkened eyes peered through the slits between the shields causing the Ruvian foot soldiers to step forward apprehensively.
Peyton watched as the first man in his sight was likely no older than he was, yet unlike Peyton, the Ruvian had fear in his eyes. It was likely his first battle, conscripted from a local village to aid the dwindling Ruvian forces. Perhaps a winter ago he was assisting his family in preparing for the upcoming snows, yet today he would end it either screaming in agony or lifeless in the squelching mud.
He was not prepared for the hell that Peyton was about to unleash.
The first lances clashed the shields, but with little force accompanying it. Unable to gain a decent foothold in the unstable ground below, the pikes simply slid off the expertly crafted shield wall.
More Ruvians pushed their way into the backs of the others, causing one or two of them to slip. As they stumbled into the water, they were greeted with an axe to the face or back, before the shield wall grouped once more.
The Ruvians were desperate to reach their targets, ill-prepared and ill-equipped to deal with the far more experienced men of Isovine. Each of them was eager to stop the onslaught that was being inflicted on them.
Peyton watched the ten bodies that already littered the battlefield their screams almost drowning out the war cries, but as he did, he saw the cavalry begin their advance on his men.
He knew the horses would struggle to advance on the ground in front of them, but his men would be vulnerable should they reach them while engaged with the foot soldiers.
The grunt of the two forces jostling with each other, the water angry sloshing around their feet, and the chaos of shouts and screams were causing the world around Peyton to slow down as his adrenaline rushed through his veins.
He watched as a Ruvian felt the slice of a sharp axe deep in his skull, he did not fall but was instead propped up by the two armies pushing each other for inches of space. His convulsing body caused a couple of his comrades to turn white with fear, but there was nowhere for them to go, they were stuck, compressed together in the engagement.
Ruvian forces started to thin, attempting to get around the edges of the stalwart Isovine defence, and as the first of Peyton's men collapsed to the floor, he wondered how long they could maintain their shield wall.
Despite his heavy feet, Peyton edged forward, slicing down the young man he had spotted before and within moments of bloodying his sword, the crimson red of another man's blood had mixed onto his steel.
These foot soldiers were rookies, unprepared for the anger and experience that Peyton's forces had in abundance, and with the young knight now involving himself in the battle, Ruvian forces were falling at an alarming rate.
Two more Isovine men fell, a splash as their soon-to-be lifeless bodies collapsed into the lake, Peyton cursed as another man fell to his sword and then cursed again as he realised that he had made a foolish mistake.
Concentrating too much on the battle in front of him, he had failed to see or hear the gallop of horses on the water as they launched themselves toward the battle from the side.
Flicking his head around, Peyton briefly glimpsed his shield wall collapse like paper. Men were thrown into the air like rag dolls as horses ploughed into them and before Peyton could issue orders, he too was thrown into the air, a horse careering itself into his side.
Splashing into the water, Peyton felt disoriented, his side screaming in agony as more horse hooves splashed passed him. Raising his head above the water, he tried to breathe in, but no air felt like it was entering his lungs and as he tried again, he felt the hands of someone push him down below the water line.
From being winded to being deliberately drowned, he could feel his lungs demanding air, but with every attempted grasp, his lungs were greeted with water.
Peyton struggled and wrestled with the man that had his hands gripped around his throat. As the man pressed down on him, using every ounce of his weight to kill him, Peyton could feel himself starting to panic.
His lungs burned, his throat stung and his bruised ribs cried for respite, Peyton could feel himself slipping away. His eyes struggled to remain open, his failed attempts at breathing felt like his soul was being torn away from him, and his last thoughts were of how he could die over some fish.
Suddenly, the water around him turned dark, its taste metallic and the hands around his neck relaxed. As the man attempting to kill him slumped over, Peyton tried to lift himself over the water line, but the combined weight of his armour and his attempted killer, what was only a few inches from his face felt like miles away.
As all hope seemed lost, the weight of the man was lifted and with it, Peyton was dragged to his feet. He tried to breathe once more, his vision blurred and incomprehensible, yet his breaths were initially futile. Slumping to his knees, he felt his stomach and lungs expel their contents, sick and water flushing themselves into the lake around him, but at that moment he breathed in hard.
It was so painful like his lungs had been stabbed, yet as he took his second breath, relief washed over him. He would survive another day.
Rubbing the water off his eyes, his vision started to return allowing him to study the pleasant view of several Ruvians escaping over the hills away from the tumultuous battle. As he looked to his side, he watched a bloodied, muddied Harrold kneel beside him.
"I told..." Peyton coughed brutally, "I told you to escape."
"Aye milord," Harrold responded, seemingly unconcerned by his superior's reprimand, "but I also promised Jeffords I would make sure you returned alive."
Peyton wanted to smile, yet exhaustion and pain took over, and as he watched the once crystal-clear water turn various shades of red and brown, he knew this skirmish had been a devastating one.
Already his remaining men had begun helping up the survivors, and comforting the ones soon to journey to the afterlife. With a glance, he could see the damage to his unit had been devastating.
Even with Harrold and his reinforcements, a good two-thirds were either dead or dying in the cold, bloodied water, or unforgiving muddied terrain.
A fury, like no other he had experienced before, embraced Peyton. Years of battle-hardened experience, men who had redeemed themselves on numerous occasions, perished over some fish. Their final moments had been cold and brutal, and their memories were forgotten in a part of Ruvia that few cared about.
Yet Peyton wasn't angry at the Ruvians, men who had been press-ganged into joining the local forces to defend this piece of water, no, he was angry at the Chevalier Des Serres, who knew that this area would be fiercely defended, but his ultimate fury was directed at Sir Cedwyn. So many men lost their lives today because of a pointless feud that Sir Cedwyn had started and that Peyton had no desire to be involved with.
Peyton had almost drowned with his men today, all because of Sir Cedwyn's hatred toward him and now it had to stop. One way or another, Peyton would end this rivalry, even if it meant that his life would be forfeited as a result of his actions.