I rode up the small hill where the commander’s tent was set up, my poor horse was tired and hungry from riding nonstop for so long. I was stopped by a couple of guards, who recognized me or my banner and let me through. I dismounted and left my horse with a soldier to be taken care of and strode towards the biggest tent in the hill, purple and golden, the colors of Duke Alfi, the Generous, my liege, and my adoptive father. The guards saluted me and let me inside without delay.
“My lord! I bring a message from Count Olcu!” I exclaimed while I knelt before him. He was sitting in a stool that was far too small for him. His long brown hair fell on his shoulder and on his back, while his also long and bushy beard reached his belly, which, to be honest, wasn’t exactly small, though it wasn’t huge, it was just big enough to fit his massive body. He opened a smile that reached his ears when he saw me.
“It has been a while, how are you son?” he said while standing up from the stool. He walked happily towards me and opened his arms, demanding a hug. I stand up and let him crush me with his beefy arms. He then let go of me and looked at me seriously. “What news do you bring?”
“Count Olcu’s war party has found the enemy army marching south through the plains and is planning to ambush them near these hills. He requests your assistance, lord.”
“How many enemies?” the duke asked seriously. “The scouts estimated around 200, lord. About 30 of them mounted.” I answered just as seriously. “And how many men does Count Olcu have?” he asked again. “248, 27 of them mounted.”
“And the fool asks for assistance!? He is truly a disgrace!” a voice slightly deeper than the duke’s shouted from behind him. There was another man sitting in a stool too small for him. He had a beard longer and bushier than Alfi’s, but no hair, instead, he had drawings in his head, dark blue lines that passed over and under each other forming strange patterns. The man stood up and revealed to be taller and beefier than Alfi, and, unlike his kind and gentle facial features, that man had a face to scare a demon. “Why does that weakling want help when he not only outnumbers the enemy, but he also has the element of surprise?!”
“The enemy is well armored, and Count Olcu’s troops are nothing more than armed peasants.” I explained, trying my hardest to resist his intimidating aura. The man laughed at my sudden shyness and at my response. “And why does he think we are going to help him?” he was now amused, rather than angry. “You are the nearest allies.” The scary man turned to look at Alfi, waiting for an answer. “So, brother, shall we aid the fool?”
Alfi seemed to stare into nothing for a while as he thought in his answer. “Ulfi, ready the men, we have a fool to help and corpses to count.” Ulfi grinned. He seemed amused by the thought of fighting.
The men were all either afraid of, or very respectful of Ulfi, because not a soul dared to not do as he said immediately and without hesitation. In a matter of a couple of hours, the camp was lifted, the fires put out and our tracks were covered. I was really impressed.
There was a road that passed besides the hill, so we set up a few archers in the top, meanwhile, we set up our infantry in the opposite side of the road. Count Olcu was supposed to arrive from behind the enemy in the road. The enemy appeared in the evening, close to dawn, marching in collumns of five men. Olcu’s scouts had miscounted. There wasn’t 200 men, but something closer to 450. Which was a problem, since we numbered only about 340, 63 being archers in the hill. But that wasn’t the worst part, that was the fact that they marched with full plates and hauberks, even helmets on. Now, what kind of army marches like that? The kind that is ready to fight.
Ulfi noticed that too. And he was angry. “Rat!” he yelled from the top of his lungs. Our men were starting to notice it too, and started to chant from our hiding spots. “Rats! Rats!” the enemy no longer needed to pretend, though they weren’t really doing so in the first place. They turned towards both sides of the road and put up their shields, forming a wall composed of a mix of kite, heater and round shields. We were outnumbered and outflanked, but above all we were outraged.
Ulfi was the first to charge, followed closely by men whose savagery matched his. He carried no shield, only a sword that kind of looked like a Zweihänder, but with a slightly wider blade. His charge broke the line where he hit, throwing enemies to the sides and opening space for his followers, all of which had huge weapons like his. While Ulfi fought, Alfi commanded. He had his trusty mace with him, taking the occasional swing from above his men’s heads into the enemy’s. He shouted things like “Pull them in!” or “Don’t swing you idiots! Stab!”.
Our archers were doing an outstanding job, but then we remembered something: where are the cavalrymen? I was in our left flank, the side where they came from, and above the sounds of metal and screams, I heard hooves, and that meant they were already too close to form a resistance. Then there was the shock. Warhorses crashing into our backs and sides. One of them came after me, swinging a Morningstar, but I stepped aside and let it hit the back of someone else’s head. “I apologize.” I thought. I sheathed my sword, and before the horseman could swing again, I grabbed his arm and pulled him to the ground, leaving him to be brutally murdered by vengeful soldiers while I hijacked his horse. I unsheathed my sword again and started to hunt down the other horsemen. Some of my own soldiers tried to take me down, but I only kicked them or pushed them showing my shield that carried Alfi’s banner. But the horsemen ignored me until I was already executing them.
But the battle was not going in our way. The morale that we had during the initial charge had dissipated and now the troops started to realize we were getting destroyed and were starting to waver.
In that moment, I heard it. A horn sounded to our left, the way the enemy horsemen came. There were more of them, more horsemen arriving. I could see the dust they raised, and it certainly was a group with at least a hundred men. I tried to warn our men, but they were too desperate, be it to fight or to flee, because I wasn’t the only one who heard the horn. It sounded again, but closer. I could see them now, and the orange of the sunset reflected off the plate armor and the chainmail that the horses wore.
But then, just as I was turning to call back to Alfi and Ulfi, I heard something else: a shout. “Khråkakgnal[1]!”. Such a dreadfully complicated word coming from a female voice could only mean one thing. The horsemen weren’t our doom, but our salvation.
[1] Literally “Foolish Water”. You know. Alcoholic beverage. Beer. It’s beer.
