Post by greytemplar on Mar 6, 2017 20:24:15 GMT
Reposting in all its glory. I will add new chapters as I am able.
Chapter 1: First Impressions
Holden felt as if he'd been marching for weeks, though in reality it had only been 2 days. His muscles ached, though less so than they had been when the Idrian patrol had found him wandering aimlessly in the hills north of Tower Judgement 2 months prior. Of course he couldn’t complain, this misery paled in comparison to what he had endured before then. His hometown butchered before his eyes, followed by an immediate mistaken conscription into the Cygnaran army, several miserable weeks of training during which he had been harassed for being a Menite, and all culminating in a boatwreck stranding him on the east side of the Black River and several weeks of starvation and dehydration before the desert nomads had saved him from the brink of death.
The Idrians had taken him to one of the villages which surrounded Tower Judgement, where he’d been nursed back to health by several families who lived there. Holden had initially been regarded with suspicion by the garrison authorities, but they had relaxed their stance towards him after he had related his ordeals. He suspected that him being a Menite, and his treatment by the Cygnarans, had only just saved him from taking up residence in a dungeon in Tower Judgement or, worse, one of the many wracks which hung from its walls. It was thus somewhat a surprise that, when a detachment of Temple Flameguard and a priest came to the village on a conscription drive, he was on the list of individuals who were ordered to report for active duty. The priest said that his inclusion was a necessary step to prove his loyalty to the Protectorate, and would be the conditions for citizenship.
And so Holden found himself marching in a detachment of Idrian skirmishers towards a Protectorate military camp, somewhere in the Boar Hills overlooking the Black River. He was glad his trusty rifle had stuck with him through his journey, he didn’t fancy getting handed a spear and shield and being thrust into a shield wall.
His unit was officially referred to as the “32nd Scouts and Irregulars”, though Chief Illicwac didn’t seem to hold to any sort of military drill or discipline. They weren’t marching in lines or wearing any uniforms. The Idrians simply wore what Holden assumed was everyday attire for desert nomads. Loose fitting trousers, well-worn cloaks, and eithers leather vests or bare chested, along with an assortment of tribal jewelry and piercings. Holden was also similarly dressed in clothing he’d been gifted to replace the tattered rags he’d been found in, though his fit poorly.
The camp was situated on a bluff overlooking the river. A palisade wall surrounded it on 3 sides, with a short cliff facing the river completing the defenses. The gate was open and on each side of it stood 4 Flameguard standing at attention, their pikes held perfectly straight. An officer, identified by his more ornate helmet and robes, came out as they approached.
“Hail Idrians, what is your business here?”
“Hail Praetor, I am Chief Illicwac. My tribesmen were instructed to aid the Lawgiver’s soldiers here by Visgoth Enjorran Sollers”. Illicwac then handed the officer a scroll.
“Ahh yes, we’d requested additional reinforcements. We did not expect you so soon, Thyra will be pleased!” he said as he read the scroll. “There is room at the north end of the encampment, you may pitch your tents there! I must inform Thyra of your arrival.” At that, he headed into the compound. Chief Illicwac and the group followed.
As they entered, they were surrounded by the sounds of a warcamp. The sounds of marching feet, the clang of a blacksmith, and the general murmur of voices. Holden was amazed by the clamor, a far cry from his sleepy mountain village. He thought nothing could ever drown out such noise…
But then a grinding of oiled steel on oiled steel and the shaking of the ground proved him wrong as a massive metal monster lumbered out of a shed. Holden startled and let out a small yip of fear as the warjack seemed to lurch towards him. The Castigator flexed its entire body, its fists rippling with heat that Holden could feel from 10ft away, as it seemed to be testing out its joints. It then noticed Holden staring at it slack jawed, half rooted in fear and half in awe. He had never been this close to a jack, let alone a true warjack. It cocked its head to one side as it regarded its dumbstruck onlooker with fiery eyes, they held each other’s gaze for what seemed like minutes till at some unseen prompt it immediately turned and face back towards the shed it had emerged from, and where a woman in a suit of steam powered armor was in terse conversation with a man dressed in oil stained work clothes and a leather apron bulging with an assortment of tools.
This snapped Holden out of his stupor and he quickly rejoined his companions. “Never seen a jack before have you farm boy?” asked Chaka, one of the Idrians who was with his group and a lad about Holden’s age.
“Not this close. I didn’t think they were so… big” replied Holden.
“Yah, they’re massive for sure, but that’s not even as big as they get. Wait till you see a Colossal! That Castigator back there barely comes eye level with a Judicator’s knees!”
Holden couldn’t even fathom a machine that large, but as he was contemplating this Chaka tugged at his sleeve.
“Hey, check out the ladies! Sulese women are definitely the prettiest” he pointed ahead. Holden could scarcely believe his eyes.
In an area of the camp, a series of posts had been set in the ground with crossbeams as training dummies. Around these posts, a half dozen women were practicing on them as training dummies. But what was truly amazing was their acrobatics. The women ran in and among and over the dummies, jabbing with short swords faster than the eye could see. They vaulted over the posts, each other, and any other obstacle in a fluid chorography of flashing blades and swift motion.
Next to this, another half dozen women were sparring with each other, armed with wooden training swords instead of live steel. They were all a blur of motion. It seemed that fighting dirty was the name of the game. Guts were punched and kicked, heads were grappled, and hair was pulled.
Then Holden’s gaze drifted on to a figure which was seated nearby, watching the fight. A women was polishing one of the largest sword’s Holden had ever seen. It was nearly as long as she was tall and it actually incorporated a large bore firearm into the blade itself, the blade was braced against her ample bosom as she ran an oilcloth up and down its length. But Holden wasn’t gazing at her weapon…
Then her eyes flicked upward, and Holden averted his gaze too slowly. In a flash he found himself on the ground, a meter of hot polished steel gently caressing his neck, a jabbing knee buried in his gut, and a boot planted firmly on his outstretched arm.
“Like what you see scamp? Have a nice long look, not many men have seen this blade up close and lived to tell of it!” said the woman sharply as she kneeled above him. A slightly confused look crossed her face as she saw his attire.
“You’re no Idrian. What are you doing in that getup?” she inquired. “Speak! Or did the tribesmen take your tongue for stealing a goat?”
“I. I. I’m t-tterribly sorry mam. I did-didn’t mean to be a starin… I’m with the Idrians, guess they put me with them because I’ve got a rifle!” Holden stammered. He was about to continue, but his wandering eyes again betrayed him as they saw up her -THIS SECTION HAS BEEN REDACTED BY ORDER OF THE SYNOD LITERARY MORALITY COUNCIL-
Holden felt a sharp pain as she slapped him across the cheek and withdrew from kneeling above him. Her face was red with embarrassment.
“I’m the Preceptor of the Daughters of the Flame regiment assigned to this command. Don’t cause any further trouble!” she said as she stomped off, slightly huffy. As she walked away she thought to herself…
“Gee, the nerve of that man. Does he think because he’s got those charming boyish features he can just get away with staring with those deep sensitive eyes … “ Nicea caught herself and brushed such thoughts away as she walked away in a huff. And she realized her heart was racing…
Holden lay on the ground, propped up on his shoulders, still in a slight daze as to what just happened.
“I’m surprised. Nobody’s ever embarrassed Nicea before and gotten away with it.”
Holden looked up to see another women standing over him. She was one of the women who had been practicing in the training ground a moment earlier, and Holden suddenly realized that his altercation had brought the sparring matches to a halt.
“I’m Maria” said the women, extending a hand down to help Holden up.
“I’m Holden. I’m with the 32nd Scouts and Irregulars!”
“oh, so you’re with the Idrians. That sort of explains your lack of a uniform, but you’re not an Idrian. What’s a Midlander like you doing with the Irregulars?”
“I guess you could say I’m a recent immigrant and I happened to have a firearm, so they decided I belonged with them.” Holden explained. “Hey, I’m not very familiar with the Protectorate military. What’s with all the women? I thought armies mostly were made up of men?”
“Oh, we’re Daughters of the Flame, though none of the Protectorate’s Martial Orders are closed to either men or women, we are a unique order. We have all lost someone we loved to heretics. That women you were staring at, Nicea, she lost her husband during the invasion of Sul. My father was killed last year in a skirmish along the river, and I had no other family to turn to. We all wish to avenge the deaths of our loved ones in Menoth’s name, so their souls in Urcaen may rest in peace.”
Holden and Maria continued to talk as they walked through the camp, she answered many of the questions he had regarding this strange land he had found himself living in. But of course, this was merely the calm before the storm, Holden still had many trials ahead of him.
-to be continued
Chapter 2: First Blood
Thyra, the Flame of Sorrow, frowned as she studied the map laid out on the table. It showed in detail the terrain of both Sulonmarch and Caspia, as well as the locations and strengths of Cygnaran and Protectorate troops stationed along the Black River. Thyra had been harassing the Cygnaran supply chains supplying East Wall for months, in preparation for an upcoming offensive against King’s Vine, hoping to cause the Cygnaran forces to shift their attention to the border fortress and leave the city unguarded. This would give the Protectorate complete control of the east side of the Black River, and the vital choke point of King’s Vine. Already, reports were trickling in of reinforcements being sent to Eastwall, all that was needed was a few raids on some of the larger supply convoys.
Praetor Sulon had just informed her that the last of the requested reinforcements, a detachment of Idrian Skirmishers, had just arrived.
“Excellent. Hopefully these last troops will be enough to see our plans through to fruition. What do you think sister?”, she asked Nicea who was seated across the table from her. But Nicea did not notice, she was staring off into space with a scowl across her face. “Nicea?”
“ahh wha…? Oh yeah, I think it will be enough” she replied hurredly.
“You seem distracted, that is most unlike you. Or did you forget your ‘personal interest’ in taking King’s Vine?” Thyra inquired.
“Certainly not, I’ll never forget him as long as I live! King’s Vine, and it’s commander, will fall to the Lawgiver!” Nicea snapped back, her knuckles turning white as they gripped the hilt of her sword. “Its just… well… “ she trailed off, the scowl returned as she remembered the incident earlier in the day.
“Hah, you had another fight again didn’t you? Who was it with this time? Saryah? Maria? Vardya?” Thyra teased.
“Well, yeah, another fight, but this time…” Nicea began before Thyra interrupted her.
“tut tut girl, you really should control that temper of yours. My advice is to kiss and make up no matter who it was with!” At that, Nicea turned red as a ripe tomato, but before she could stammer a retort Thyra had already begun to exit. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go light a fire under the mechanic. He still hasn’t gotten Blaze of Vengeance’s rotator cuffs correctly adjusted, he’d better have them done before we cross the river tomorrow!”
Meanwhile, on the other side of the camp, Holden was struggling with some problems of his own. After he and Maria had arrived at the location his unit was to make camp, she had left him to return to sparring practice.
The Idrians had already erected their own tents and headed off to the mess. Holden found an empty spot on the ground and got out his tent, but as he unpacked it he found that it was far more difficult than he had anticipated. Quite unlike the tent’s he was familiar with back in Cygnar, which came with a simple set of instructions and were easy to use, this tent he had been given by Chief Illicwac made no sense at all. It seemed nothing more than a few hides sewn together, a single stick, and several lengths of rope and pegs. After about 30 minutes, he at least managed to get it somewhat erected, though it was quite a sorry sight to see as it leaned terribly and looked like the slightest breeze would knock it over. But Holden was too tired and hungry to wrestle with it further.
He went off in search of food, it wasn’t difficult to find the camp mess. It was near the center of the camp, a dozen fire pits with various cooking implements and pots over them stood in front of several large tents and sheds. Roughhewn logs, stumps, and rocks along with a few rickety tables served as the seating. It seemed most of the camp had finished eating, and all that was left at this point was lukewarm soup and bread. Holden asked the cook, a large Idrian who seemed equal parts muscle and fat, if there was anything to drink.
“Kumis!” bellowed the large man as he handed him a skin which had been hanging from a peg along with a half dozen others. The Idrian had another one in his hand which he was obviously enjoying. Holden could smell the alcohol on his breath.
Holden was glad to have any sort of booze to drown his sorrows in, but he was unprepared for the Kumis. He’d downed a hearty mouthful before its true nature fully engulfed him. He nearly vomited at the curdled flavor and chunky consistency.
“What in the blazing hells is this?” he gurgled as he spat out curdled white chunks onto the ground.
A rousing strong of laughter rose up from some nearby tables and the cook who had given him the skin.
“Kumis! A proper desert drink made from fermented mare’s milk, nothing like a soft Midlander’s wine” the cook chuckled. “Ahh, sorry my good fellow. It’s sort of a tradition to see who can get someone who’s not an Idrian to take a swig of the Kumis. You’ve certainly taken the largest swig out of anybody for a long time. Here, this should be a little more to your liking. Its cheap wine, but better than nothing. All the good stuff goes to the Northern Crusade up in Llael”
Holden staggered over to a table by himself to nurse his wounded pride. He ate the soup and bread with more gusto than might have been expected. Having only so recently endured starvation had hardened his stomach, though Holden wasn’t sure any amount of starvation would make Kumis a palatable beverage. The bread was a jaw exercise, but it was hearty if nothing else. The soup… well, it wasn’t the worst he’d ever had. It might have been… turnip soup perhaps? It was difficult to tell as it had largely turned to a flavorless mush. There were chunks of meat too, at least he thought they were meat. Best not to dwell on such things, he thought to himself.
Holden went to sleep with a full, but unsatisfied, belly, and a wish that tomorrow would be better than today had been.
He was rudely awakened by the sound of loud wardrums and shouting voices!
“Hey, Holden, get your sorry hide up and pack your tent. We’re moving out!” shouted Chief Illicwac. Holden rolled out of his sorry excuse for a tent still half asleep. All around him the camp was erupting in a somewhat organized chaos. Around half of the tents that had been there the night before had entirely disappeared, soldiers were bustling about packing up and forming up into ranks where the rows of tents had once stood.
Holden did an even worse job packing up his tent than he had assembling it. He simply stuffed it into his backpack unceremoniously and moved to join the rest of his unit as they awaited inspection. He looked around to see what was going on, and he caught a glimpse of a group of officers moving around the ranks of soldiers conducting the inspection.
The group was composed of a variety of individuals. Several priests dressed in thick flowing robes of varying hues of off white, crimson, and purple were there, they would occasionally stop and give a benediction to individual soldiers. A man which Holden recognized as the Flameguard Officer who had met them at the gate was also among them. He seemed to be paying extra close attention to uniforms, and would occasionally examine a soldier’s weapon. At one point, after looking at a Flameguard’s spear, he became quite irate at something he found. Holden didn’t hear exactly what was said, but the officer struck the soldier across the faceplate with the butt of the weapon, knocking him to the ground. The soldier kneeled in supplication, after which the spear was tossed back at him. The soldier caught it, gave a respectful bow, and took his place in the line again. Holden looked at the state of his clothes and pack and thought that he too was likely destined for a beating.
Then Holden noticed that the women who’d caught him staring at her was also in the group. Nicea I think is what she called herself. He was for sure destined for a beating! Then his eyes moved to the women who led the party.
He recognized her as the women he’d seen when he’d encountered the warjack just after arriving. Smoke trailed from the twin smoke stacks that rose the back of her armor. Despite the obvious weight and size of the armor, she moved effortlessly along the ground, her movements lithe and balanced, like a cat thought Holden.
The group moved towards the Idrians, who were all arranged at the back of the columns of soldiers. Holden was sure that he was probably going to be flogged.
But as the group arrived nearby, they simply seemed to casually glance over the assembled Idrians, scarcely sparing any heed to the shabby boy whose pack was packed entirely the wrong way. Though Holden did lock eyes with Nicea for a moment, a flash of recognition and she turned her gaze away, and Holden thought he saw a slight flush of color brush her cheeks. He too turned away, not wanting to risk attracting any attention.
“Alright, everything seems in order.” Said Thyra as she spun around and began walking back to the head of the column. At this, the Flameguard officer began barking orders.
“ALL TROOPS! SET MARCH! DRUMS KEEP PACE!”
Drums began beating to set a pace, and the entire force began to exit the camp. As they exited, Holden caught a glimpse of several warjacks leading the group, the women in command leading them. Holden at this point had figured she was a warcaster. He’d never seen one before, but he’d heard the stories.
The jacks were also a sight to behold. He recognized the one he’d encountered earlier, along with several others. Another one as large as the Castigator, but with a more blocky body shape. Its 2 fists gripped a pair of swords as it followed the warcaster like a protective guardian. Another 2 jack’s walked in front, significantly smaller than the other two. One also had a pair of swords in its hands. The other carried a large shield and a halberd.
The small army, Holden estimated there was around 150 soldiers total, marched down a dirt road for several miles, till they finally arrived at a small inlet off the main river. In this inlet were moored 3 large steam barges, and around a dozen smaller boats. The forces began loading onto the boats. The jacks all were loaded onto the largest barge, and though it was very large it still shifted several feet with each jack the boarded. By the end it had gotten several feet lower in the water. They also loaded several wagons which were carrying spare coal for the jack’s fuel consumption.
After roughly an hour, the entire force had been loaded up. Holden and his companions had all crammed into what he assumed was had been a small fishing boat. They, and the other Idrians, all headed out across the river first, the remaining boats and barges followed them as they led the way.
“Hey, where are we going anyway?” Holden inquired. Illicwac replied.
“We’re heading to lay an ambush along the road between Eastwall and King’s Vine. A Cygnaran supply convoy and reinforcements are coming down from up north, and we’re to intercept them before they get there.”
Holden turned his gaze downward as he processed this information. He wasn’t sure how he felt about fighting those who had, only a few months prior, been his countrymen. He turned his thoughts back to some of the men he’d met on the train. They’d seemed like decent enough folks, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to look down the sights of his gun and pull the trigger…
As if in response to Holden’s dark brooding, it began to rain. Fat drops, slow and methodical, at first, but soon it turned into a steady rain. And by the time they’d reached the far shore it had turned into a deluge.
The boats were moored in a sheltered cove. Holden’s companions, and the rest of the Idrians, moved inland slightly and kept watch around a perimeter while the main force unloaded from the barges. It seemed to take ages to unload the barges, Holden wasn’t sure what time it was. The dark sky made it impossible to tell, and all he could think of was how much he wanted a fire and dry bed. But there was no respite, after the jacks and wagons had been unloaded, the order was immediately given to begin marching. The Idrians fanned out, forming a perimeter ranging ahead of the slow moving column of jacks, infantry, and supply wagons.
Holden felt slightly jealous of the soldiers who got to travel along the dirt path while he had to force through dense undergrowth and over rough and rocky terrain. Of course the path had turned to ankle deep mud in the pouring rain, so traveling off the path was truthfully preferable.
They pushed on through the forest along the dirt road for several more hours, snaking in and around a series of hills, pushing deeper into Cygnar. Till at last, they came upon the main road they had been heading for. The dirt road they had followed from the river descended down and joined up with the main road, which had been built straight and true through the landscape. This road had been cut into the sides of hills and here and there stone bridges carried it over the occasional gorge or stream. In places it was paved with aging flagstones, though it too had its fair share of dirt turned to mud. Though being largely level made for much easier traveling.
All the Idrian Chieftains assembled together near the main road, waiting for further instructions. The vanguard of the main force had only begun to arrive and stage off on both sides of the road. Holden had slumped at the base of a large pine close by, while his companions were scattered in the woods behind him.
A courier rode up.
“What news scouts? Any sign of our quarry?” He asked of the assembled chiefs.
“None. The tracks on the main road indicate no large parties have passed this way for some time. We have arrived ahead of our target!” Chief Illicwac stated.
“Excellent. I shall relay this information to our commander. Your orders are to set up in ambush on the far side of the road. We shall wait for them to pass between, and at the signal we shall crush the heathens. Send their souls screaming to Urcaen!” The messenger then spurred his horse and headed back down the road.
The Ambush site was well chosen. The main road generally followed the low areas between the hills, but it also cut through them on occasion. Here was an area where both sides of the road were flanked by steep banks which rose up to hillsides covered in thick pine forest. The road itself was not paved in this area, and its surface had turned to mud. The only things keeping it from being impassable were the ditches which lined the edges which served to drain most of the water, which was knee deep at this point.
The Idrians arranged themselves along the slope overlooking the road, and from there Holden had a commanding view of the area. He could see north and south for several miles, and the stretch of road directly below was exposed. He was also able to watch the main force begin setting up their own ambush positions on the far side. It took several more hours for the column to untangle and arrange itself, but soon the entire force was hidden. Holden thought it amazing how this small army had managed to turn itself invisible. He could clearly see several ranks of Flameguard who were taking cover behind a ridge, but from the level of the road you wouldn’t have been able to see them at all. He couldn’t see any of the Daughters of the Flame at all, though he knew they were on the slope opposite where he and the Idrians were.
The rain continued to pour, and it seemed to Holden that it was getting heavier. He really wasn’t looking forward to spending the night out in this.
“How much longer are we gonna have to wait?” Holden whispered to Chaka, who was seated in the hollow of a nearby tree.
“Only Menoth knows. Could be hours, could be days. We traveled light and over a relatively short distance, but the Cygnarans will have dozens and dozens of wagons, loaded down with supplies. The mud will slow them down much more than it did to us, and they had to go through some swamp as well.” was Chaka’s reply.
Holden was about to let out a groan of displeasure, but suddenly a sentry whistled.
“They’re here! Only about 2 miles off. Send the runner across the road! Let them know they’re coming” Holden heard someone say. A man ran off down the slope and crossed the road to deliver the news.
Holden looked north, and he saw the light of lanterns. Roughly 20 minutes later the head of the column rounded the bend. The wagons were in the center of the road, following the deep ruts left by centuries of travel. Along either side, soldiers walked in single file along the edges between the road and the ditch where the mud and water weren’t as deep. Occasionally a group of soldiers would have to stop and help a wagon move through a particularly rough spot.
The soldiers were all wearing similar attire. Trench coats and boots the color of the mud they slogged through, bronze breastplates and helmets provided simple protection, rifles slung alongside heavy backpacks. The only spot of color on them were their pauldrons, blue as the sky on a clear summers day, though these too were mud splattered.
As the column moved forward into the trap, Holden then noticed that it wasn’t just Trenchers. There was a section of the line of soldiers who were instead clad in full plate armor. Shields were slung across their backs, blazoned with the Cygnus, and Caspian Battleblades were carefully carried in their arms, wrapped in cloth to avoid the rain and mud.
Then Holden’s heart leapt into his throat as he spied several warjacks in the column as well. The jack’s were marching along behind several empty carts, obviously they had abandoned their transportation to allow the wagons to traverse the muddy roads.
The first jack was equipped with a large dual barreled cannon on its left arm, its right clutched a simple hammer. The second was much larger than the first, its smooth upper chassis was proudly displaying the Cygnus. A huge mechanikal hammer was carried in its left fist and it advanced, its weight and power obvious as it sloshed unimpeded through the mud. A third jack took up the rear, another light jack, it too had a gun on its left arm, but this was a single long barreled cannon. Its melee weapon was a short hafted battle axe.
Holden did not relish the thought of having to deal with those metal monsters. They were frightening enough when they weren’t trying to kill you. But there was no time for second thoughts. Some unseen signal went through the Idrians around him, and they all leveled their rifles towards the road. Almost involuntarily, Holden did the same.
Holden stared down the barrel of his rifle. It all seemed somewhat surreal, like he wasn’t in control of his own body. He looked around for a target. The line of soldiers along the near side of the road would be easy. All lined up nice and easy, he didn’t even have to really try to hit them. Then he saw the driver of one of the wagons. He moved his rifle up to position. The driver looked young. Younger than Holden was. He seemed little more than a boy. 14, 15 years old perhaps? He was chatting with one of the men marching alongside the wagon, laughing at some dirty joke the soldier had just made.
“FIRE!”
Holden felt himself squeezing the trigger, and for a moment the world seemed devoid of sound, and time itself seemed to stop as a spray of red painted the rain crimson.
The boy on the wagon seemed to spin in his seat. His jovial expression turning to shock as his body turned to face Holden. It seemed as if he was staring right back at Holden! Then he fell backwards onto the wagon seat. A sanguine river gave a dash of jovial color to the boy’s white shirt as he lay there, in contemplation of the wondrous expanse of stormy sky above!
-to be continued-
Chapter 3: Burning Sensations
Holden ducked as a volley of bullets flew up the slope, splintering the trunks of trees and throwing up clumps of mud and decaying vegetation. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since the battle had started. He remembered reloading his rifle. Two, maybe three times? Around him were the sounds and smells of battle. The moans and screams of the dying, which mostly came from downhill. The scent of spent cordite, mud, blood, and rain created a heady aroma which was almost intoxicating.
The clouds left by the discharge of rifles had quickly made picking out targets impossible. If Holden had thought this would give him a temporary respite, he was wrong.
The muscled form of Chief Illicwac rose up from behind the tree where he had been taking cover. He drew two large swords from their sheathes…
“CHARGE!” Illicwac bellowed as he began to run down the slope, bounding like a goat. He was followed by the rest of the Idrians, who began wailing savage warcries as they too drew their bronze Kopides. Holden found himself swept along in the charge.
They broke from the treeline and fell upon the trenchers who had taken cover up against the banks of the road. Holden tripped on a root as he approached the short bank and fell into the knee deep water which was gathered in the ditch. He emerged from the water, flailing about with his knife, but no foes remained near him. The Idrians had swept the enemy away and had taken the front of the column.
Holden gathered his wits and took cover behind a wagon. He saw that up ahead the Cygnarans had moved some of the wagons into makeshift barricades. Another firefight began. Holden’s powder had gotten completely soaked when he fell into the ditch. He fumbled around and found an ammo bag on the body of a trencher, its previous owner didn’t seem to object to Holden’s pilfering.
A spray of water rose up from the right ditch by the Cygnarans, and Holden’s heart leapt into his mouth as he saw the Ironclad moving up towards them. A murderous gleam in its eye. He also saw the two other warjacks taking up positions behind the barricade. Holden thought that this was probably it for him. He braced for what he was sure were his last moments as the Ironclad began to move forward.
The Ironclad took several bounding leaps forward. Then a sound like 2 freight trains colliding shook the air as the warjack was blindsided, its hulking form slammed sideways across Holden’s field of vision like a rag doll as it tumbled and smashed into the bank on the far side of the road. Where it had previously been, the Castigator stood with the fierce look of a determined pugilist. Its fists rippling with heat and trailing steam.
Holden saw the Idrians begin to move forward, and he did so too. As they charged the Cygnaran defenses, he saw that the rest of the Protectorate forces had begun flanking. Daughters of the flame vaulting over upturned carts, followed by the rest of the warjacks and disciplined ranks of Temple Flameguard.
And Holden found himself in a swirling melee. He saw that the acrobatics he had witnessed the Daughters of the Flame practicing back at camp had not been just for show. They were whirlwinds of death. The daughters swept the enemy before him as Holden walked forward, somewhat in awe of the gruesome dance of death he was witness to.
Then Holden heard a familiar voice…
“Holden? Is that you?”
Holden turned, and saw a man dressed in a Trencher’s uniform, a bloody trench knife in his hand, the other clutching a wound on his side. It was Rodgers! The first man he’d met when he’d gotten on the train! When his entire life had been turned upside down! Holden just gaped in shock, he’d never expected to see him again.
“The bloody hell Holden! How in Morrow’s name’d you end up sacking up with the zealots? You’re a thrice damned trai-“
Rodgers never finished. A bloody sword emerged from his throat and his eyes opened wide in shock. His lifeless body splashed face down into the mud at Holden’s feet.
“Hey Holden! Glad to see you’re still alive, but you won’t stay that way if you lose concentration in the middle of a fight” chirped a cheerful voice.
It was Maria. Her perky demeanor, and fairly stunning beauty, was somewhat undercut by the arterial blood splashed across her face and the mud caking her armor. She smiled as she turned and ran onward.
Holden followed her, still somewhat in shock at what had just happened.
The Cygnarans continued to fall back. Holden saw the smoldering wreck of the ironclad. Its hull smashed almost beyond recognition, small patches of burning oil testament to the pummeling fists of the Castigator.
Up ahead, the Cgynarans had again formed a defensive perimeter. This time Holden spied the armored knights he had seen earlier holding fast, trading blows with the Temple flameguard. Then at a command, the Temple Flameguard parted and withdrew. A moment later Holden saw why.
The Castigator advanced into the pack of men. But the Knights hacked at it expertly with their blades, and Holden saw the warjack falter somewhat as they pressed at it. But their success was short lived. The Castigator spun from side to side, its fists went from steaming in the rain to a blazing inferno. Burning Menoth’s Fury gushed from the ports on the fists in a tide of liquid fire. Wailing screams pierced the storm as the proud Sword Knights cooked inside their armor.
Two more protectorate Warjack’s streamed through the gap left in the Castigator’s wake. Both the heavy and light warjack were armed with a pair of swords. Holden had never imagined that such massive constructs of metal could move so gracefully and smooth. The smaller jack in particular weaved in and among the Cygnarans effortlessly, it moved faster than anything that size had any right to. Its larger companion too made a stunning display of swordsmanship, cutting men down left and right.
Holden was swept along as the Menite forces routed the Cygnarans. Soon, he found himself part of a semi-circle, standing next to Maria among the rest of his allies. Their weapons all facing forward menacingly. In the middle of this circle stood the last cygnarans. With them was the light jack he had seen earlier with the double barreled cannon, its barrels smoking in the rain.
Among them, he saw a man in a suit of blue steam armor. A sword and handcannon in his hands. A handful of trenchers were with him, their bayonets leveled.
A women’s voice called out from somewhere in a commanding tone, addressing the Cygnarans. Holden recognized it as the voice of Thyra, the commanding officer of the Menite force. Though he could not tell where it was coming from, it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
“Surrender, and your lives will be spared! You have no hope of victory!”
Several of the Trenchers dropped their weapons and kneeled in submission, but the man in steam armor was not so contrite.
“As if I’d ever sully myself in such a way! You’ll just toss us onto a wrack or torture us till you’ve attained a confession!” And with that the man lunged forward, his form was illuminated with glowing runes!. The Warjack surged forward, it was coming right for Holden and Maria!
Holden leapt forward and dragged Maria down, the jack’s hammer slammed into the mud mere feet away from where they were. The jack tracked with them, it raised its hammer high preparing to smash them both!
But then its body shuddered. The glow in its eyes dimmed. It staggered one step backwards before its leg completely gave out and it crumpled to the ground. Holden and Maria looked towards the cygnaran warcaster.
The warcaster’s steam armor was still standing erect where it had been a moment earlier, notably missing his head. Which had rolled off into the ditch.
Thyra stood behind the still standing corpse of the Cygnaran commander, her dual swords dripping with blood. The magic which had concealed her presence still rippled around her, distorting her image. In the hazy rain she seemed like a vengeful ghost, come back to haunt the living.
“Umm, Holden. You’re kinda crushing me!”
Holden looked down and realized that he was on top of Maria in a somewhat awkward position. An involuntary surge coursed through his body. Maria’s cheeks turned bright red, and not from the blood staining her alabaster skin. Holden felt his -THIS SECTION HAS BEEN REDACTED BY ORDER OF THE SYNOD LITERARY MORALITY COUNCIL-
Holden sat up to a kneeling position. Maria too got up, her face was bright as a cherry. She turned away and ran off. Holden was left kneeling in the mud, wondering at the series of events which had occurred today.
The rain continued to fall as the Protectorate forces left and began the trek back to their boats. The road a scene of carnage and slaughter. But there was at least one peaceful corpse. A young boy, laying on his back in a wagon. Holden’s bullet in his chest. A thoughtful stare gazing up at the uncaring sky.
-to be continued-
Chapter 1: First Impressions
Holden felt as if he'd been marching for weeks, though in reality it had only been 2 days. His muscles ached, though less so than they had been when the Idrian patrol had found him wandering aimlessly in the hills north of Tower Judgement 2 months prior. Of course he couldn’t complain, this misery paled in comparison to what he had endured before then. His hometown butchered before his eyes, followed by an immediate mistaken conscription into the Cygnaran army, several miserable weeks of training during which he had been harassed for being a Menite, and all culminating in a boatwreck stranding him on the east side of the Black River and several weeks of starvation and dehydration before the desert nomads had saved him from the brink of death.
The Idrians had taken him to one of the villages which surrounded Tower Judgement, where he’d been nursed back to health by several families who lived there. Holden had initially been regarded with suspicion by the garrison authorities, but they had relaxed their stance towards him after he had related his ordeals. He suspected that him being a Menite, and his treatment by the Cygnarans, had only just saved him from taking up residence in a dungeon in Tower Judgement or, worse, one of the many wracks which hung from its walls. It was thus somewhat a surprise that, when a detachment of Temple Flameguard and a priest came to the village on a conscription drive, he was on the list of individuals who were ordered to report for active duty. The priest said that his inclusion was a necessary step to prove his loyalty to the Protectorate, and would be the conditions for citizenship.
And so Holden found himself marching in a detachment of Idrian skirmishers towards a Protectorate military camp, somewhere in the Boar Hills overlooking the Black River. He was glad his trusty rifle had stuck with him through his journey, he didn’t fancy getting handed a spear and shield and being thrust into a shield wall.
His unit was officially referred to as the “32nd Scouts and Irregulars”, though Chief Illicwac didn’t seem to hold to any sort of military drill or discipline. They weren’t marching in lines or wearing any uniforms. The Idrians simply wore what Holden assumed was everyday attire for desert nomads. Loose fitting trousers, well-worn cloaks, and eithers leather vests or bare chested, along with an assortment of tribal jewelry and piercings. Holden was also similarly dressed in clothing he’d been gifted to replace the tattered rags he’d been found in, though his fit poorly.
The camp was situated on a bluff overlooking the river. A palisade wall surrounded it on 3 sides, with a short cliff facing the river completing the defenses. The gate was open and on each side of it stood 4 Flameguard standing at attention, their pikes held perfectly straight. An officer, identified by his more ornate helmet and robes, came out as they approached.
“Hail Idrians, what is your business here?”
“Hail Praetor, I am Chief Illicwac. My tribesmen were instructed to aid the Lawgiver’s soldiers here by Visgoth Enjorran Sollers”. Illicwac then handed the officer a scroll.
“Ahh yes, we’d requested additional reinforcements. We did not expect you so soon, Thyra will be pleased!” he said as he read the scroll. “There is room at the north end of the encampment, you may pitch your tents there! I must inform Thyra of your arrival.” At that, he headed into the compound. Chief Illicwac and the group followed.
As they entered, they were surrounded by the sounds of a warcamp. The sounds of marching feet, the clang of a blacksmith, and the general murmur of voices. Holden was amazed by the clamor, a far cry from his sleepy mountain village. He thought nothing could ever drown out such noise…
But then a grinding of oiled steel on oiled steel and the shaking of the ground proved him wrong as a massive metal monster lumbered out of a shed. Holden startled and let out a small yip of fear as the warjack seemed to lurch towards him. The Castigator flexed its entire body, its fists rippling with heat that Holden could feel from 10ft away, as it seemed to be testing out its joints. It then noticed Holden staring at it slack jawed, half rooted in fear and half in awe. He had never been this close to a jack, let alone a true warjack. It cocked its head to one side as it regarded its dumbstruck onlooker with fiery eyes, they held each other’s gaze for what seemed like minutes till at some unseen prompt it immediately turned and face back towards the shed it had emerged from, and where a woman in a suit of steam powered armor was in terse conversation with a man dressed in oil stained work clothes and a leather apron bulging with an assortment of tools.
This snapped Holden out of his stupor and he quickly rejoined his companions. “Never seen a jack before have you farm boy?” asked Chaka, one of the Idrians who was with his group and a lad about Holden’s age.
“Not this close. I didn’t think they were so… big” replied Holden.
“Yah, they’re massive for sure, but that’s not even as big as they get. Wait till you see a Colossal! That Castigator back there barely comes eye level with a Judicator’s knees!”
Holden couldn’t even fathom a machine that large, but as he was contemplating this Chaka tugged at his sleeve.
“Hey, check out the ladies! Sulese women are definitely the prettiest” he pointed ahead. Holden could scarcely believe his eyes.
In an area of the camp, a series of posts had been set in the ground with crossbeams as training dummies. Around these posts, a half dozen women were practicing on them as training dummies. But what was truly amazing was their acrobatics. The women ran in and among and over the dummies, jabbing with short swords faster than the eye could see. They vaulted over the posts, each other, and any other obstacle in a fluid chorography of flashing blades and swift motion.
Next to this, another half dozen women were sparring with each other, armed with wooden training swords instead of live steel. They were all a blur of motion. It seemed that fighting dirty was the name of the game. Guts were punched and kicked, heads were grappled, and hair was pulled.
Then Holden’s gaze drifted on to a figure which was seated nearby, watching the fight. A women was polishing one of the largest sword’s Holden had ever seen. It was nearly as long as she was tall and it actually incorporated a large bore firearm into the blade itself, the blade was braced against her ample bosom as she ran an oilcloth up and down its length. But Holden wasn’t gazing at her weapon…
Then her eyes flicked upward, and Holden averted his gaze too slowly. In a flash he found himself on the ground, a meter of hot polished steel gently caressing his neck, a jabbing knee buried in his gut, and a boot planted firmly on his outstretched arm.
“Like what you see scamp? Have a nice long look, not many men have seen this blade up close and lived to tell of it!” said the woman sharply as she kneeled above him. A slightly confused look crossed her face as she saw his attire.
“You’re no Idrian. What are you doing in that getup?” she inquired. “Speak! Or did the tribesmen take your tongue for stealing a goat?”
“I. I. I’m t-tterribly sorry mam. I did-didn’t mean to be a starin… I’m with the Idrians, guess they put me with them because I’ve got a rifle!” Holden stammered. He was about to continue, but his wandering eyes again betrayed him as they saw up her -THIS SECTION HAS BEEN REDACTED BY ORDER OF THE SYNOD LITERARY MORALITY COUNCIL-
Holden felt a sharp pain as she slapped him across the cheek and withdrew from kneeling above him. Her face was red with embarrassment.
“I’m the Preceptor of the Daughters of the Flame regiment assigned to this command. Don’t cause any further trouble!” she said as she stomped off, slightly huffy. As she walked away she thought to herself…
“Gee, the nerve of that man. Does he think because he’s got those charming boyish features he can just get away with staring with those deep sensitive eyes … “ Nicea caught herself and brushed such thoughts away as she walked away in a huff. And she realized her heart was racing…
Holden lay on the ground, propped up on his shoulders, still in a slight daze as to what just happened.
“I’m surprised. Nobody’s ever embarrassed Nicea before and gotten away with it.”
Holden looked up to see another women standing over him. She was one of the women who had been practicing in the training ground a moment earlier, and Holden suddenly realized that his altercation had brought the sparring matches to a halt.
“I’m Maria” said the women, extending a hand down to help Holden up.
“I’m Holden. I’m with the 32nd Scouts and Irregulars!”
“oh, so you’re with the Idrians. That sort of explains your lack of a uniform, but you’re not an Idrian. What’s a Midlander like you doing with the Irregulars?”
“I guess you could say I’m a recent immigrant and I happened to have a firearm, so they decided I belonged with them.” Holden explained. “Hey, I’m not very familiar with the Protectorate military. What’s with all the women? I thought armies mostly were made up of men?”
“Oh, we’re Daughters of the Flame, though none of the Protectorate’s Martial Orders are closed to either men or women, we are a unique order. We have all lost someone we loved to heretics. That women you were staring at, Nicea, she lost her husband during the invasion of Sul. My father was killed last year in a skirmish along the river, and I had no other family to turn to. We all wish to avenge the deaths of our loved ones in Menoth’s name, so their souls in Urcaen may rest in peace.”
Holden and Maria continued to talk as they walked through the camp, she answered many of the questions he had regarding this strange land he had found himself living in. But of course, this was merely the calm before the storm, Holden still had many trials ahead of him.
-to be continued
Chapter 2: First Blood
Thyra, the Flame of Sorrow, frowned as she studied the map laid out on the table. It showed in detail the terrain of both Sulonmarch and Caspia, as well as the locations and strengths of Cygnaran and Protectorate troops stationed along the Black River. Thyra had been harassing the Cygnaran supply chains supplying East Wall for months, in preparation for an upcoming offensive against King’s Vine, hoping to cause the Cygnaran forces to shift their attention to the border fortress and leave the city unguarded. This would give the Protectorate complete control of the east side of the Black River, and the vital choke point of King’s Vine. Already, reports were trickling in of reinforcements being sent to Eastwall, all that was needed was a few raids on some of the larger supply convoys.
Praetor Sulon had just informed her that the last of the requested reinforcements, a detachment of Idrian Skirmishers, had just arrived.
“Excellent. Hopefully these last troops will be enough to see our plans through to fruition. What do you think sister?”, she asked Nicea who was seated across the table from her. But Nicea did not notice, she was staring off into space with a scowl across her face. “Nicea?”
“ahh wha…? Oh yeah, I think it will be enough” she replied hurredly.
“You seem distracted, that is most unlike you. Or did you forget your ‘personal interest’ in taking King’s Vine?” Thyra inquired.
“Certainly not, I’ll never forget him as long as I live! King’s Vine, and it’s commander, will fall to the Lawgiver!” Nicea snapped back, her knuckles turning white as they gripped the hilt of her sword. “Its just… well… “ she trailed off, the scowl returned as she remembered the incident earlier in the day.
“Hah, you had another fight again didn’t you? Who was it with this time? Saryah? Maria? Vardya?” Thyra teased.
“Well, yeah, another fight, but this time…” Nicea began before Thyra interrupted her.
“tut tut girl, you really should control that temper of yours. My advice is to kiss and make up no matter who it was with!” At that, Nicea turned red as a ripe tomato, but before she could stammer a retort Thyra had already begun to exit. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go light a fire under the mechanic. He still hasn’t gotten Blaze of Vengeance’s rotator cuffs correctly adjusted, he’d better have them done before we cross the river tomorrow!”
Meanwhile, on the other side of the camp, Holden was struggling with some problems of his own. After he and Maria had arrived at the location his unit was to make camp, she had left him to return to sparring practice.
The Idrians had already erected their own tents and headed off to the mess. Holden found an empty spot on the ground and got out his tent, but as he unpacked it he found that it was far more difficult than he had anticipated. Quite unlike the tent’s he was familiar with back in Cygnar, which came with a simple set of instructions and were easy to use, this tent he had been given by Chief Illicwac made no sense at all. It seemed nothing more than a few hides sewn together, a single stick, and several lengths of rope and pegs. After about 30 minutes, he at least managed to get it somewhat erected, though it was quite a sorry sight to see as it leaned terribly and looked like the slightest breeze would knock it over. But Holden was too tired and hungry to wrestle with it further.
He went off in search of food, it wasn’t difficult to find the camp mess. It was near the center of the camp, a dozen fire pits with various cooking implements and pots over them stood in front of several large tents and sheds. Roughhewn logs, stumps, and rocks along with a few rickety tables served as the seating. It seemed most of the camp had finished eating, and all that was left at this point was lukewarm soup and bread. Holden asked the cook, a large Idrian who seemed equal parts muscle and fat, if there was anything to drink.
“Kumis!” bellowed the large man as he handed him a skin which had been hanging from a peg along with a half dozen others. The Idrian had another one in his hand which he was obviously enjoying. Holden could smell the alcohol on his breath.
Holden was glad to have any sort of booze to drown his sorrows in, but he was unprepared for the Kumis. He’d downed a hearty mouthful before its true nature fully engulfed him. He nearly vomited at the curdled flavor and chunky consistency.
“What in the blazing hells is this?” he gurgled as he spat out curdled white chunks onto the ground.
A rousing strong of laughter rose up from some nearby tables and the cook who had given him the skin.
“Kumis! A proper desert drink made from fermented mare’s milk, nothing like a soft Midlander’s wine” the cook chuckled. “Ahh, sorry my good fellow. It’s sort of a tradition to see who can get someone who’s not an Idrian to take a swig of the Kumis. You’ve certainly taken the largest swig out of anybody for a long time. Here, this should be a little more to your liking. Its cheap wine, but better than nothing. All the good stuff goes to the Northern Crusade up in Llael”
Holden staggered over to a table by himself to nurse his wounded pride. He ate the soup and bread with more gusto than might have been expected. Having only so recently endured starvation had hardened his stomach, though Holden wasn’t sure any amount of starvation would make Kumis a palatable beverage. The bread was a jaw exercise, but it was hearty if nothing else. The soup… well, it wasn’t the worst he’d ever had. It might have been… turnip soup perhaps? It was difficult to tell as it had largely turned to a flavorless mush. There were chunks of meat too, at least he thought they were meat. Best not to dwell on such things, he thought to himself.
Holden went to sleep with a full, but unsatisfied, belly, and a wish that tomorrow would be better than today had been.
He was rudely awakened by the sound of loud wardrums and shouting voices!
“Hey, Holden, get your sorry hide up and pack your tent. We’re moving out!” shouted Chief Illicwac. Holden rolled out of his sorry excuse for a tent still half asleep. All around him the camp was erupting in a somewhat organized chaos. Around half of the tents that had been there the night before had entirely disappeared, soldiers were bustling about packing up and forming up into ranks where the rows of tents had once stood.
Holden did an even worse job packing up his tent than he had assembling it. He simply stuffed it into his backpack unceremoniously and moved to join the rest of his unit as they awaited inspection. He looked around to see what was going on, and he caught a glimpse of a group of officers moving around the ranks of soldiers conducting the inspection.
The group was composed of a variety of individuals. Several priests dressed in thick flowing robes of varying hues of off white, crimson, and purple were there, they would occasionally stop and give a benediction to individual soldiers. A man which Holden recognized as the Flameguard Officer who had met them at the gate was also among them. He seemed to be paying extra close attention to uniforms, and would occasionally examine a soldier’s weapon. At one point, after looking at a Flameguard’s spear, he became quite irate at something he found. Holden didn’t hear exactly what was said, but the officer struck the soldier across the faceplate with the butt of the weapon, knocking him to the ground. The soldier kneeled in supplication, after which the spear was tossed back at him. The soldier caught it, gave a respectful bow, and took his place in the line again. Holden looked at the state of his clothes and pack and thought that he too was likely destined for a beating.
Then Holden noticed that the women who’d caught him staring at her was also in the group. Nicea I think is what she called herself. He was for sure destined for a beating! Then his eyes moved to the women who led the party.
He recognized her as the women he’d seen when he’d encountered the warjack just after arriving. Smoke trailed from the twin smoke stacks that rose the back of her armor. Despite the obvious weight and size of the armor, she moved effortlessly along the ground, her movements lithe and balanced, like a cat thought Holden.
The group moved towards the Idrians, who were all arranged at the back of the columns of soldiers. Holden was sure that he was probably going to be flogged.
But as the group arrived nearby, they simply seemed to casually glance over the assembled Idrians, scarcely sparing any heed to the shabby boy whose pack was packed entirely the wrong way. Though Holden did lock eyes with Nicea for a moment, a flash of recognition and she turned her gaze away, and Holden thought he saw a slight flush of color brush her cheeks. He too turned away, not wanting to risk attracting any attention.
“Alright, everything seems in order.” Said Thyra as she spun around and began walking back to the head of the column. At this, the Flameguard officer began barking orders.
“ALL TROOPS! SET MARCH! DRUMS KEEP PACE!”
Drums began beating to set a pace, and the entire force began to exit the camp. As they exited, Holden caught a glimpse of several warjacks leading the group, the women in command leading them. Holden at this point had figured she was a warcaster. He’d never seen one before, but he’d heard the stories.
The jacks were also a sight to behold. He recognized the one he’d encountered earlier, along with several others. Another one as large as the Castigator, but with a more blocky body shape. Its 2 fists gripped a pair of swords as it followed the warcaster like a protective guardian. Another 2 jack’s walked in front, significantly smaller than the other two. One also had a pair of swords in its hands. The other carried a large shield and a halberd.
The small army, Holden estimated there was around 150 soldiers total, marched down a dirt road for several miles, till they finally arrived at a small inlet off the main river. In this inlet were moored 3 large steam barges, and around a dozen smaller boats. The forces began loading onto the boats. The jacks all were loaded onto the largest barge, and though it was very large it still shifted several feet with each jack the boarded. By the end it had gotten several feet lower in the water. They also loaded several wagons which were carrying spare coal for the jack’s fuel consumption.
After roughly an hour, the entire force had been loaded up. Holden and his companions had all crammed into what he assumed was had been a small fishing boat. They, and the other Idrians, all headed out across the river first, the remaining boats and barges followed them as they led the way.
“Hey, where are we going anyway?” Holden inquired. Illicwac replied.
“We’re heading to lay an ambush along the road between Eastwall and King’s Vine. A Cygnaran supply convoy and reinforcements are coming down from up north, and we’re to intercept them before they get there.”
Holden turned his gaze downward as he processed this information. He wasn’t sure how he felt about fighting those who had, only a few months prior, been his countrymen. He turned his thoughts back to some of the men he’d met on the train. They’d seemed like decent enough folks, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to look down the sights of his gun and pull the trigger…
As if in response to Holden’s dark brooding, it began to rain. Fat drops, slow and methodical, at first, but soon it turned into a steady rain. And by the time they’d reached the far shore it had turned into a deluge.
The boats were moored in a sheltered cove. Holden’s companions, and the rest of the Idrians, moved inland slightly and kept watch around a perimeter while the main force unloaded from the barges. It seemed to take ages to unload the barges, Holden wasn’t sure what time it was. The dark sky made it impossible to tell, and all he could think of was how much he wanted a fire and dry bed. But there was no respite, after the jacks and wagons had been unloaded, the order was immediately given to begin marching. The Idrians fanned out, forming a perimeter ranging ahead of the slow moving column of jacks, infantry, and supply wagons.
Holden felt slightly jealous of the soldiers who got to travel along the dirt path while he had to force through dense undergrowth and over rough and rocky terrain. Of course the path had turned to ankle deep mud in the pouring rain, so traveling off the path was truthfully preferable.
They pushed on through the forest along the dirt road for several more hours, snaking in and around a series of hills, pushing deeper into Cygnar. Till at last, they came upon the main road they had been heading for. The dirt road they had followed from the river descended down and joined up with the main road, which had been built straight and true through the landscape. This road had been cut into the sides of hills and here and there stone bridges carried it over the occasional gorge or stream. In places it was paved with aging flagstones, though it too had its fair share of dirt turned to mud. Though being largely level made for much easier traveling.
All the Idrian Chieftains assembled together near the main road, waiting for further instructions. The vanguard of the main force had only begun to arrive and stage off on both sides of the road. Holden had slumped at the base of a large pine close by, while his companions were scattered in the woods behind him.
A courier rode up.
“What news scouts? Any sign of our quarry?” He asked of the assembled chiefs.
“None. The tracks on the main road indicate no large parties have passed this way for some time. We have arrived ahead of our target!” Chief Illicwac stated.
“Excellent. I shall relay this information to our commander. Your orders are to set up in ambush on the far side of the road. We shall wait for them to pass between, and at the signal we shall crush the heathens. Send their souls screaming to Urcaen!” The messenger then spurred his horse and headed back down the road.
The Ambush site was well chosen. The main road generally followed the low areas between the hills, but it also cut through them on occasion. Here was an area where both sides of the road were flanked by steep banks which rose up to hillsides covered in thick pine forest. The road itself was not paved in this area, and its surface had turned to mud. The only things keeping it from being impassable were the ditches which lined the edges which served to drain most of the water, which was knee deep at this point.
The Idrians arranged themselves along the slope overlooking the road, and from there Holden had a commanding view of the area. He could see north and south for several miles, and the stretch of road directly below was exposed. He was also able to watch the main force begin setting up their own ambush positions on the far side. It took several more hours for the column to untangle and arrange itself, but soon the entire force was hidden. Holden thought it amazing how this small army had managed to turn itself invisible. He could clearly see several ranks of Flameguard who were taking cover behind a ridge, but from the level of the road you wouldn’t have been able to see them at all. He couldn’t see any of the Daughters of the Flame at all, though he knew they were on the slope opposite where he and the Idrians were.
The rain continued to pour, and it seemed to Holden that it was getting heavier. He really wasn’t looking forward to spending the night out in this.
“How much longer are we gonna have to wait?” Holden whispered to Chaka, who was seated in the hollow of a nearby tree.
“Only Menoth knows. Could be hours, could be days. We traveled light and over a relatively short distance, but the Cygnarans will have dozens and dozens of wagons, loaded down with supplies. The mud will slow them down much more than it did to us, and they had to go through some swamp as well.” was Chaka’s reply.
Holden was about to let out a groan of displeasure, but suddenly a sentry whistled.
“They’re here! Only about 2 miles off. Send the runner across the road! Let them know they’re coming” Holden heard someone say. A man ran off down the slope and crossed the road to deliver the news.
Holden looked north, and he saw the light of lanterns. Roughly 20 minutes later the head of the column rounded the bend. The wagons were in the center of the road, following the deep ruts left by centuries of travel. Along either side, soldiers walked in single file along the edges between the road and the ditch where the mud and water weren’t as deep. Occasionally a group of soldiers would have to stop and help a wagon move through a particularly rough spot.
The soldiers were all wearing similar attire. Trench coats and boots the color of the mud they slogged through, bronze breastplates and helmets provided simple protection, rifles slung alongside heavy backpacks. The only spot of color on them were their pauldrons, blue as the sky on a clear summers day, though these too were mud splattered.
As the column moved forward into the trap, Holden then noticed that it wasn’t just Trenchers. There was a section of the line of soldiers who were instead clad in full plate armor. Shields were slung across their backs, blazoned with the Cygnus, and Caspian Battleblades were carefully carried in their arms, wrapped in cloth to avoid the rain and mud.
Then Holden’s heart leapt into his throat as he spied several warjacks in the column as well. The jack’s were marching along behind several empty carts, obviously they had abandoned their transportation to allow the wagons to traverse the muddy roads.
The first jack was equipped with a large dual barreled cannon on its left arm, its right clutched a simple hammer. The second was much larger than the first, its smooth upper chassis was proudly displaying the Cygnus. A huge mechanikal hammer was carried in its left fist and it advanced, its weight and power obvious as it sloshed unimpeded through the mud. A third jack took up the rear, another light jack, it too had a gun on its left arm, but this was a single long barreled cannon. Its melee weapon was a short hafted battle axe.
Holden did not relish the thought of having to deal with those metal monsters. They were frightening enough when they weren’t trying to kill you. But there was no time for second thoughts. Some unseen signal went through the Idrians around him, and they all leveled their rifles towards the road. Almost involuntarily, Holden did the same.
Holden stared down the barrel of his rifle. It all seemed somewhat surreal, like he wasn’t in control of his own body. He looked around for a target. The line of soldiers along the near side of the road would be easy. All lined up nice and easy, he didn’t even have to really try to hit them. Then he saw the driver of one of the wagons. He moved his rifle up to position. The driver looked young. Younger than Holden was. He seemed little more than a boy. 14, 15 years old perhaps? He was chatting with one of the men marching alongside the wagon, laughing at some dirty joke the soldier had just made.
“FIRE!”
Holden felt himself squeezing the trigger, and for a moment the world seemed devoid of sound, and time itself seemed to stop as a spray of red painted the rain crimson.
The boy on the wagon seemed to spin in his seat. His jovial expression turning to shock as his body turned to face Holden. It seemed as if he was staring right back at Holden! Then he fell backwards onto the wagon seat. A sanguine river gave a dash of jovial color to the boy’s white shirt as he lay there, in contemplation of the wondrous expanse of stormy sky above!
-to be continued-
Chapter 3: Burning Sensations
Holden ducked as a volley of bullets flew up the slope, splintering the trunks of trees and throwing up clumps of mud and decaying vegetation. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since the battle had started. He remembered reloading his rifle. Two, maybe three times? Around him were the sounds and smells of battle. The moans and screams of the dying, which mostly came from downhill. The scent of spent cordite, mud, blood, and rain created a heady aroma which was almost intoxicating.
The clouds left by the discharge of rifles had quickly made picking out targets impossible. If Holden had thought this would give him a temporary respite, he was wrong.
The muscled form of Chief Illicwac rose up from behind the tree where he had been taking cover. He drew two large swords from their sheathes…
“CHARGE!” Illicwac bellowed as he began to run down the slope, bounding like a goat. He was followed by the rest of the Idrians, who began wailing savage warcries as they too drew their bronze Kopides. Holden found himself swept along in the charge.
They broke from the treeline and fell upon the trenchers who had taken cover up against the banks of the road. Holden tripped on a root as he approached the short bank and fell into the knee deep water which was gathered in the ditch. He emerged from the water, flailing about with his knife, but no foes remained near him. The Idrians had swept the enemy away and had taken the front of the column.
Holden gathered his wits and took cover behind a wagon. He saw that up ahead the Cygnarans had moved some of the wagons into makeshift barricades. Another firefight began. Holden’s powder had gotten completely soaked when he fell into the ditch. He fumbled around and found an ammo bag on the body of a trencher, its previous owner didn’t seem to object to Holden’s pilfering.
A spray of water rose up from the right ditch by the Cygnarans, and Holden’s heart leapt into his mouth as he saw the Ironclad moving up towards them. A murderous gleam in its eye. He also saw the two other warjacks taking up positions behind the barricade. Holden thought that this was probably it for him. He braced for what he was sure were his last moments as the Ironclad began to move forward.
The Ironclad took several bounding leaps forward. Then a sound like 2 freight trains colliding shook the air as the warjack was blindsided, its hulking form slammed sideways across Holden’s field of vision like a rag doll as it tumbled and smashed into the bank on the far side of the road. Where it had previously been, the Castigator stood with the fierce look of a determined pugilist. Its fists rippling with heat and trailing steam.
Holden saw the Idrians begin to move forward, and he did so too. As they charged the Cygnaran defenses, he saw that the rest of the Protectorate forces had begun flanking. Daughters of the flame vaulting over upturned carts, followed by the rest of the warjacks and disciplined ranks of Temple Flameguard.
And Holden found himself in a swirling melee. He saw that the acrobatics he had witnessed the Daughters of the Flame practicing back at camp had not been just for show. They were whirlwinds of death. The daughters swept the enemy before him as Holden walked forward, somewhat in awe of the gruesome dance of death he was witness to.
Then Holden heard a familiar voice…
“Holden? Is that you?”
Holden turned, and saw a man dressed in a Trencher’s uniform, a bloody trench knife in his hand, the other clutching a wound on his side. It was Rodgers! The first man he’d met when he’d gotten on the train! When his entire life had been turned upside down! Holden just gaped in shock, he’d never expected to see him again.
“The bloody hell Holden! How in Morrow’s name’d you end up sacking up with the zealots? You’re a thrice damned trai-“
Rodgers never finished. A bloody sword emerged from his throat and his eyes opened wide in shock. His lifeless body splashed face down into the mud at Holden’s feet.
“Hey Holden! Glad to see you’re still alive, but you won’t stay that way if you lose concentration in the middle of a fight” chirped a cheerful voice.
It was Maria. Her perky demeanor, and fairly stunning beauty, was somewhat undercut by the arterial blood splashed across her face and the mud caking her armor. She smiled as she turned and ran onward.
Holden followed her, still somewhat in shock at what had just happened.
The Cygnarans continued to fall back. Holden saw the smoldering wreck of the ironclad. Its hull smashed almost beyond recognition, small patches of burning oil testament to the pummeling fists of the Castigator.
Up ahead, the Cgynarans had again formed a defensive perimeter. This time Holden spied the armored knights he had seen earlier holding fast, trading blows with the Temple flameguard. Then at a command, the Temple Flameguard parted and withdrew. A moment later Holden saw why.
The Castigator advanced into the pack of men. But the Knights hacked at it expertly with their blades, and Holden saw the warjack falter somewhat as they pressed at it. But their success was short lived. The Castigator spun from side to side, its fists went from steaming in the rain to a blazing inferno. Burning Menoth’s Fury gushed from the ports on the fists in a tide of liquid fire. Wailing screams pierced the storm as the proud Sword Knights cooked inside their armor.
Two more protectorate Warjack’s streamed through the gap left in the Castigator’s wake. Both the heavy and light warjack were armed with a pair of swords. Holden had never imagined that such massive constructs of metal could move so gracefully and smooth. The smaller jack in particular weaved in and among the Cygnarans effortlessly, it moved faster than anything that size had any right to. Its larger companion too made a stunning display of swordsmanship, cutting men down left and right.
Holden was swept along as the Menite forces routed the Cygnarans. Soon, he found himself part of a semi-circle, standing next to Maria among the rest of his allies. Their weapons all facing forward menacingly. In the middle of this circle stood the last cygnarans. With them was the light jack he had seen earlier with the double barreled cannon, its barrels smoking in the rain.
Among them, he saw a man in a suit of blue steam armor. A sword and handcannon in his hands. A handful of trenchers were with him, their bayonets leveled.
A women’s voice called out from somewhere in a commanding tone, addressing the Cygnarans. Holden recognized it as the voice of Thyra, the commanding officer of the Menite force. Though he could not tell where it was coming from, it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
“Surrender, and your lives will be spared! You have no hope of victory!”
Several of the Trenchers dropped their weapons and kneeled in submission, but the man in steam armor was not so contrite.
“As if I’d ever sully myself in such a way! You’ll just toss us onto a wrack or torture us till you’ve attained a confession!” And with that the man lunged forward, his form was illuminated with glowing runes!. The Warjack surged forward, it was coming right for Holden and Maria!
Holden leapt forward and dragged Maria down, the jack’s hammer slammed into the mud mere feet away from where they were. The jack tracked with them, it raised its hammer high preparing to smash them both!
But then its body shuddered. The glow in its eyes dimmed. It staggered one step backwards before its leg completely gave out and it crumpled to the ground. Holden and Maria looked towards the cygnaran warcaster.
The warcaster’s steam armor was still standing erect where it had been a moment earlier, notably missing his head. Which had rolled off into the ditch.
Thyra stood behind the still standing corpse of the Cygnaran commander, her dual swords dripping with blood. The magic which had concealed her presence still rippled around her, distorting her image. In the hazy rain she seemed like a vengeful ghost, come back to haunt the living.
“Umm, Holden. You’re kinda crushing me!”
Holden looked down and realized that he was on top of Maria in a somewhat awkward position. An involuntary surge coursed through his body. Maria’s cheeks turned bright red, and not from the blood staining her alabaster skin. Holden felt his -THIS SECTION HAS BEEN REDACTED BY ORDER OF THE SYNOD LITERARY MORALITY COUNCIL-
Holden sat up to a kneeling position. Maria too got up, her face was bright as a cherry. She turned away and ran off. Holden was left kneeling in the mud, wondering at the series of events which had occurred today.
The rain continued to fall as the Protectorate forces left and began the trek back to their boats. The road a scene of carnage and slaughter. But there was at least one peaceful corpse. A young boy, laying on his back in a wagon. Holden’s bullet in his chest. A thoughtful stare gazing up at the uncaring sky.
-to be continued-