The war with Altim taught Sigrid a great many things.
A large number of them were practical. He had learned how to avoid the first wave of enemy arrows during an offensive charge. Ways to identify weaknesses in enemy lines, and how a commander might best exploit them. The best way to fight with a supporting squad, and tactics to use when outnumbered. How to organize military supply lines and make effective use of reserve squads.
Other lessons, however, were not.
He had learned that men often shit themselves when they die. He had learned how it feels to break a human skull with his hands. He had seen the way that Altim’s soldiers ravaged the towns they took, burning buildings and claiming their spoils from any unfortunate civilians who remained. He had learned to distinguish the mournful keening of the dying from the screams of those less fortunate, and how powerless both might make a man feel.
He had thought war a glorious thing, once. A part of him still did. But, if nothing else, he was perhaps a touch less naïve than he had been before.
If he were to die here, so be it. But first, Cydonia’s last knight would show his enemies just how much he had learned.
It had been about half a span since the capital’s walls had fallen. Altim’s forces had flooded in through the breach, driven into a frenzy by their lust for a seemingly inevitable victory. Cydonia’s soldiers had retreated into the city streets, and the battle had transformed from a typical siege into something more bloody. Enemy soldiers roamed in groups, looting at will, and fell upon any Cydonians they found like packs of bloodthirsty wolves. They made no effort to distinguish between fleeing soldiers and civilians, it seemed, and took no prisoners. At some point, fire had broken out in the southern district, and was quickly spreading. The flames suffused the night sky with an eerie orange glow, ash fell from the heavens like snow…and yet, the coppery stench of blood remained. Pervasive. Inescapable.
When the walls had fallen, Sigrid had commandeered a nearby squad and retreated to one of the city’s major intersections. Under his orders, they had quickly arranged themselves to stop any Altim soldiers from driving further into the city. The bulk of his forces were positioned to hold the main road, whilst smaller groups waited in the buildings on either side of the main street, ready to ambush any enemies that committed too heavily. He assumed that other pockets of Cydonian soldiers were doing the same, though he hadn’t heard any news from them. They’d fended off two groups of attackers so far, leaving the plaza riddled with bodies. It wasn’t long before a third rounded the corners, however, drawn by the sounds of their combat like moths towards flame. With a wordless battle cry, the Altim wolves charged, and Sigrid and his men stepped forward to meet them.
The knight had, unsurprisingly, positioned himself right in the middle of their meager defensive line. When the two forces collided, he found himself thrown right into the thick of combat. Thankfully, his new squad was skilled. With some careful maneuvering and a handful of spears, they did a good job at stopping Altim soldiers from surrounding Sigrid, leaving him free to kill with reckless abandon. With a stroke from his claymore, Sigrid severed an arm from its body, and left the Altim soldier to bleed out. He dropped his shoulder into a second, sending the man reeling, before killing a third with a quick, clean thrust. Another Altim soldier stepped forward and thrust a spear at him, but Sigrid ignored it. The blow was off-target. He trusted his plate to deflect it, leaving him free to split the man’s torso open with a savage overhead stroke.
When given a chance to breathe, Sigrid gave the signal, and his ambush squad make themselves known, spilling from their hiding holes in violent fashion. Just as quickly as they had appeared, the Altim soldiers retreated, leaving several deal in their wake. The force disappeared down another street just as quickly as they had come, seemingly inclined to seek easier prey. With the enemy temporarily rebuffed again, Sigrid did what he could to catch his breath, whilst casting a weary eye over the rest of his forces. Their numbers were dwindling, and he could feel fatigue starting to drag him down. A single flank or any real coordination from Altim’s roaming bands would likely be enough to end them, but they held, for now.
War, it seemed, still had one lesson left to teach him. No matter how strong he might be, Sigrid was still one man, and one man was not enough to turn the tide of a battle like this. After a moment of quiet reflection, however, Sigrid shoved the thought aside. This was not the time or place. Not that he seemed likely to get another chance.
“Captain.”
Sigrid forced steel into his voice, so that his men wouldn’t realize just how tired he was becoming. It wouldn’t do to demoralize them now. Still, the person who stepped forward in response to his words was definitely not the man he had asked for.
“Captain’s dead, sir. Went down in that skirmish just now.” Sigrid grunted his displeasure.
“Take five men and scout out the nearest side streets. Make sure those soldiers aren’t trying to flank us.” The soldier nodded, before turning away. He barked a few orders at the others, and them a group of them scurried off to do his bidding. The knight watched them go, before quickly turning his attention to other matters. Before he got the chance, though, another call went out.
“Someone’s approaching from behind, my lord! Looks like they’re wearing messenger colors!”
Finally
Sigrid hated fighting blind. As it was, he had no idea if there were any other pockets of resistance out there, or if most of Altim’s troops had already pushed deeper into the city. He had no idea if any of the battlefield generals had survived to coordinate the rest of their defense, or if that duty would also fall to him. Now, hopefully, he would finally get some answers.
He turned to face the approaching messenger and was greeted with the sight of a young boy, barely of age. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaved, and a thick layer of sweat and grime coated his skin. Even so, the boy saluted. Sigrid couldn’t help but be both impressed and amused. Formalities, here? In the middle of a battlefield?
“Sir Sigrid Barriston?” His voice was shaky, but Sigrid paid it no mind.
“What news, boy?”
“Message from the king, sir. He requests your presence.” Sigrid nodded, as if this were to be expected. It wasn’t quite everything he was hoping for, but it was a start.
“Form up, men. As soon as those scouts return, we’re falling back to the keep.” His squad responded with a few weary cheers, before the messenger, looking and sounding more than a little uncomfortable, spoke up again.
“Um…pardon, my lord, but the king only requested your presence. Specifically, sir.”
Sigrid was stunned into silence, for a moment. The king had almost single-handedly unified Cydonia, if the stories were to be believed. Surely he had some sort of plan. Even so, the idea of abandoning these men to hold and die here, alone, left a bad taste in Sigrid’s mouth. Still… there was nothing to be done about it, he supposed. After a brief few seconds spent gathering his thoughts, Sigrid turned to shout at his soldiers again.
“When your sergeant returns, tell him that he has the command. I’ll send help and orders as soon as I’m able.” The response he got this time was much more subdued, if still agreeable. That done, he turned back to the messenger.
“Did you have any trouble getting here, boy? Are there any Altim soldiers between here and the palace?”
“Um…not that I saw, sir.” Good. Sigrid would’ve felt bad about having to take an honour guard, and pull more men away from the battlefield.
“Lead on, then.”
Dressed in battered plate, covered in the blood of the fallen, carrying a claymore that was feeling heavier by the moment, Sir Sigrid Barriston began his journey to the palace, unable to help but wonder what, exactly, the king had planned for him. For them all.
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