I never wanted to be a soldier.
I was just one of the many poor desperates who enlisted in the legion simply because they were unable to find their own happy place within the social pyramid of the Empire.
The land I came from was poor, and when an epidemic took my parents away, the army became the only way out to avoid starving.
It had only been two years since I received the armor, and I had never seen a battlefield in my life since.
But just when I was beginning to believe all those rumors that being a legionnaire meant lounging around and camping out all day in parades and honor guards and other similar nonsense waiting to take my leave and use my five years' pay to start a business, here comes the rip-off.
First, they had sent me to Eirinn, just a spear throw from the most dangerous border of Saedonia, –it wasn't the regions of the east where they fought day and night with the rebel barons, but not even the patrols under the hot sun of Floradis– and now I was marching with my entire unit straight into a mob of enraged slaves.
General Ron who was leading us had harangued us that it was a trifle, that we would cheerfully slaughter a few beggars and then go home without a scratch, but for some reason I couldn't be so optimistic.
The rumors circulating among my companions, painstakingly kept at bay by our centurions, told a quite different story; it was said that there was a human, a tough guy to lead the revolt, and that given the premises it could not be excluded that in addition to the slaves we would also have to deal with the inhabitants of the region, who were anything but lovers of the Empire and its armies.
"Don't worry." my brother Darius kept repeating to me while marching at my side
"You make it look easy. It won't be your first battle."
"There's no reason to be so tense. They're just a band of marauders. It will be enough for us to kill some of them and the others will fall on their knees begging for mercy. Trust me, it won't even be called a battle."
We had almost reached the point where we should have left the Via Imperiale to march against the ghetto, when a scout sent to check the situation turned back and informed the commander that there was an army of at least six hundred warriors waiting for us nearby.
"Have they gone mad?" I heard General Ron say, "Do they really think they can go head-to-head?"
Indeed, despite being recruits we were more than three times their size, and even I knew that with such a numerical advantage and being able to count on better weapons and equipment it would have been a piece of cake to prevail over the enemies.
But the General was not the kind of commander that underestimates the enemy, and we were ordered to march forward in fighting formation, at a slow pace and with weapons ready.
We proceeded like this for a few hours, until we turned a bend and found the rebellious slaves barricaded on a low hill that dominated the road.
It was as my brother had said; more than an enemy army they looked like a motley crew of ill-equipped two-legged animals, proudly waving a flag-shaped banner of rags.
Most of them were armed with a simple spear – some even wielded nothing but pointed sticks – and with just a few layers of patched leather to serve as armor. Despite this, they looked strangely disciplined, and as we formed up in front of them they didn't move or speak, just staring at us.
Suddenly a white horse appeared from behind the enemy formation carrying a young man with a penetrating gaze, dressed in a simple but respectable way, who was respectfully saluted by the rebels.
He had to be that Daemon they talked about so much.
I could see General Ron welcoming the newcomer with a grimace of disgust, responding with a frown to his orderly's request that he send an ambassador to the rioters to try and settle the matter peacefully.
"No discussions. No negotiations. Spread the word. Whoever slaughters the most slaves will get a promotion. And I'll promote to Centurion whoever brings me that bastard Sheriff's head."
The archers were sent forward first, protected on the flanks by two small platoons of privates.
The rebels did not respond to their advance, silently watching them as they marched to cover the space necessary to get within firing range.
"Soldiers of the Imperial Army!" yelled the human rider when the optimal launch point was just a few steps away. "If you value your life, don't take another step! Fold up your insignia and go back! We're not going to fight, but we won't stop if provoked until you're all dead!"
Anyone else would have been laughed in the face at such an apparently out of place display of force, but this guy's aura of supremacy was so great that I too felt a shiver down my spine.
Even the archers seemed to hesitate, but their officers urged them to move on.
They had reached their position and were preparing to fire the first volley of arrows when the first line of slaves opened like a theater curtain, revealing six large guns mounted on wheeled and solid wooden carriages.
"Fire!"
The roar almost made the earth tremble and dozens of our comrades fell to the ground overwhelmed by heavy metal balls which, bouncing or rolling on the sloping ground, took away their legs, arms and heads.
"Reform your ranks! Return fire!"
Confused and frightened the archers fired, but by then some of the slaves had already begun work reloading the cannons, and since all of them had large wooden shields place behind their backs, only two or three were significantly hit.
"Broadside two, fire!"
The second broadside was even worse than the first, hitting the crowd with terrifying accuracy and killing or maiming scores of soldiers.
One of those balls kept rolling until it reached our line up; Marcus, a card mate of mine, instinctively put his foot down to stop it, and a moment later we saw him being led behind the lines by his mates screaming in pain, his leg severed from the knee down.
"Get the infantry forward!" the General yelled at the sight of the archers who, after the third broadside, ran away almost halved.
Tightly in formation, covering ourselves as best we could with the little oval auxiliaries' shields, we began to move forward with spears in remains. However, we were all so frightened by the idea of seeing those infernal cannon fire upon us that our officers had to threaten us with terrible punishments in order to be able to keep the youngest and most inexperienced in line.
We advanced at a double pace, covering in a few moments the distance necessary to be theoretically too close to be effectively targeted by the guns.
"The hard part is behind us now, soldiers! Even if they fired, they would never be able to hit us effectively!"
Then why are they reloading?
This time however it was different, and instead of with iron balls, it seemed they were loading the cannons with lighter clay spheres.
If only we had known what was about to rain on us; literally.
We were practically close to the cannons and were about to order us to charge, when that Daemon raised his arm.
"Grapeshot, fire!"
A very strange noise and smoke detonated from the cannons, almost a powder's explosion, and dozens of us fell on the grass at the same time with their bodies covered in holes and wounds.
I don't know by what miracle I escaped unscathed, but unfortunately my brother didn't have the same luck; three large pieces of metal hit him in the chest gutting the armor and almost piercing him, another one bounced off the shield grazing me in the leg, yet another went straight into his right eye coming out the other side and splashing blood in my face.
"Darius!"
At the same moment we halted the advance, a group of crossbowmen burst out from behind the monsters' first line, but we were all too confused and scared to realize that they were Imperial soldiers.
They arranged themselves in two lines, the first kneeling and the second standing, pointing their weapons straight at us.
"Crossbowmen, fire!"
Disoriented, disorganized and close as we were they hit us by the dozen, but once again, the gods were on my side and I was spared.
Then came their infantry, who fell upon us like an avalanche, engaging us in hand-to-hand combat that soon turned into a massacre.
The final blow was delivered by a second wave, also made up only of monsters, which, emerging from behind the hill, struck our right flank; it was led by a young girl dressed like a Torian Amazon, with dark skin and hair, a long tail and a pair of curled horns.
Why? Why is all this happening? I don't want to die! Mom! Dad! Brother!
We desperately tried to resist, but by now fear had completely overcome us and within minutes they routed us, and we made a desperate flight before the enemy's encirclement maneuver could cut us off from the rest of our army.
As we ran away ignoring even General Ron's intimations to return to the fight we could hear the monsters' victory cries behind us, followed by an invitation from their commander not to be afraid, that we had been sent to die in the name of an empire that didn't give a damn about us, and that anyone who wanted to fight for a better cause would be welcome.
Needless to say, those words immediately began to drill into my head like a surgeon's tool, and something told me I wasn't the only one having such thoughts.
We had always been told that loyalty to the Empire was the only ideal worth defending, and that giving one's life for Saedonia was the highest honor a man could aspire to.
Theoretically I should have felt nothing but hatred towards those monsters who had killed the only relative I had left, but at the same time I could not help thinking about our old comrades now arrayed against us, that had shot at us without thinking twice and that during our escape I had seen rejoicing together with the monsters, embracing them like brothers.
Could such a world really exist? A world in which humans and monsters could fight side by side for a common good, in which they could believe enough to be ready to turn their weapons on their old friends?
I deserted that same night, leaving the camp along with five other friends of mine. Two of them didn't even walk a hundred steps before taking off their insignia, armor and weapons and going into hiding, while me and the other three made our way to the battlefield to surrender, hoping that the promises of the enemies were honest.
We weren't disappointed.
As soon as we reached a small roadside outpost equally populated by monsters, human civilians and a few legionaries we were fed, watered and then escorted to the main camp, carefully set up like a military encampment on the same hill on which we had been slaughtered.
That's when I got to see him face to face: Daemon Haselworth. Seeing him like this, no longer astride his white horse, he seemed nothing more than an ordinary young man, but his eyes were rays of light that peered into the soul, and his words so powerful in their apparent simplicity that they reached us directly to the heart.
He told us that as far as he was concerned we were not his enemies, which he and his followers had taken up the sword to rebel against an Empire in which none of them believed anymore, and that their aim was to build a new world in which inequalities would be abolished and humans, monsters and demi-humans would become equal before the law.
In the same way, however, he was very clear, not to say threatening in warning us that justice would be swift and ruthless towards all those who even thought of betraying the cause, and that as we had experienced on our skin there would be no mercy for those who were determined to get in their way.
We would have had to point our weapons at our old comrades, and if we fell alive into enemy hands, we were very likely to be beheaded on the spot like the deserters we were for them.
"If you accept you will be welcome. However, if there's anyone among you who doesn't think he can go all the way, leave now. We'll give you five days' food and water, fifty goldies, and a safe passage to Connelly or the Union, and then it's up to you what to do. So? What's your decision?"
As far as I was concerned, I had already made my decision a long time ago.
The last time I had seen a battlefield I was sitting on the back of a cart and staring disconsolately over the plain of Waterloo, imagining the faces of Wellington and Blucher enjoying the view from the top of St. Jean's Hill.
I had been waiting for a long time to feel the thrill that only battle could give me flow through my veins again, and when the weapons finally fell silent, I was happy to note two things: first, I hadn't lost my talent for inspiring and directing men, and secondarily those same men at the fateful moment had beautifully behaved.
Although it had been more of a skirmish than a real engagement, the results were nonetheless appreciable, as proved by the fact that when the music had stopped we had counted only seventeen casualties, while the enemy must have suffered over two hundred.
For a moment, I had feared that Septimus and his men would hesitate to fire on their comrades when confronted with them, and that's why I had preferred to employ them as crossbowmen rather than in the front lines.
But they hadn't let me down, demonstrating once again how reincarnation hadn't taken anything away from my ability to move consciences.
"Did you know him?" I asked noticing how Septimus stared at what the grapeshot had left of one of the enemy legionnaires
"His name was Darius. We trained together."
"I'm sorry. War is a dirty business, especially if you wage it against people you know."
"We were both running for promotion, but he turned it down to stay close to his brother. I hope he at least got away with it."
"Should he be among those who decide to surrender, I promise you that we will give him preferential treatment."
"Thank you. It's hard enough to accept the idea that we're fighting against our friends. At least I'd like to try not to have to kill too many of them."
Scalia, on the other hand, was in a completely different mood, happy as ever to have finally been able to put years of sword training to the test.
"I'd say it was a complete victory."
"Definitely, but let's not get too excited. Not even the Governor will make the same mistake twice. This time they were recruits and auxiliaries, next time he will send the army."
While the soldiers cleared the battlefield of the fallen, we set up camp, reuniting with Scalia and Septimus in the command tent to plan our next move.
"What we do now?" Scalia asked. "Are we going straight to the Castle?"
"Not yet. We have neither the troops nor the strength to besiege that fortress. After the beating we dealt them, however, it will take them a while to regroup and launch a new offensive. And we'll take advantage of that."
"How do you suggest we act?" asked Septimus
"We'll do like snakes. We will strangle the enemy until he suffocates. As long as the Castle has access to their supply routes, they will always have an advantage over us. So we will seize the moment and strike here at Basterwick. The city is an obligatory point of passage for supplies to the Castle. If we occupy it, Ron and the Governor will be left with only the old ducal road that runs north through the mountains, that is still blocked by snow."
"But I heard there is an epidemic going on in Basterwick."
"In fact, I'm not going to risk. From what I have been able to discover the plague that has hit the city only affects humans. So I will only take the fourth battalion with me."
"But that's less than five hundred soldiers."
"Scalia's right. Between the militia and the garrison we're talking about two thousand men defending Basterwick, and Centurion Mannio who commands the garrison is a smart fellow."
"You're right. If we were talking about a siege, I wouldn't even try. But unlike Dundee Basterwick does not have an independent fort, and with an epidemic going on they certainly won't risk locking themselves up in the city. They will have to fight in the open field."
"Well said Daemon! And after all we will have cannons on our side! Those cursed ones will fly through the air like sparks!"
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't get too excited about it. Those cursed ones, as you call them, are often poor people doing their duty. Not to mention that I have plenty of friends among them."
"Both of you calm down. Septimus, I promised you that I would give anyone the chance to give themselves up for their lives and I will continue to do so. What else can you tell me about this Mannio?"
"I served for a while under his command, and as I said he is a fine officer. A veteran of the Flor War with the Principality of Connelly. The soldiers respect him, trust him blindly, and he reciprocates by constantly worrying about them. The problem again is the local militia and their commander."
"Yes I know him. Van Lobre. Since last year he has also become mayor. His large estates alone occupy a third of the Basterwick region. But as an officer he's an idiot who couldn't tell a pike from a stick. We'll be fine. And to answer you Scalia, no. We will not take the guns with us."
"Why?"
"It took us two days to get them here, less than ten miles from Dundee. If we take them with us, we'll never have time to take Basterwick before the new offensive. Septimus?"
"Tell me."
"You'll have to move too. We're too exposed here, we'll need a position where we can nullify the numerical advantage when Ron returns here with the whole legion. The ideal place is here, at the Chateroi Pass. You will await the arrival of the new battalions from Dundee, then you and Oldrick will position yourself at this point, near the village. Once Basterwick is occupied we will catch up with you and rejoin you."
"It will be done."
"Spread the word Scalia. The drum rings at four. All monsters must eat and go to sleep within two hours. I want them rested and motivated, because we will be marching non-stop to Basterwick. We have to be there by the day after tomorrow."
"For what reason?"
"Because it will be the perfect moment for our victory."