This is a somewhat edited version of a battle scene from my roleplay with @Phillipa 'For My Country'. Evangeline is her character and, though most of her parts aren't directly related to the battle, I want to thank her for letting me use the scene (and for three+ years of a phenomenal story).
James is my character (creative name, I know) and Emperor. The Vikari are his enemies, the Vaylendarans are Evangeline's people. Aden is a dutchy within the Empire
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James gives Evangeline the smallest nod of acknowledgment. Here, in front of his officers, he cannot be the man who fawns over his wife—but he can give her that final assurance before he leaves to see to his war. "General." He said, voice the booming echo of a battlefield commander "Raise the Imperial standard—and the banner of Vaylendara. I want these Vikari dogs to know who is killing them." He spurred Mandarb forward and headed towards his battle lines without a backwards glance.
Splayed out before him were sixty thousand of his legionaries. Four full legions, comprised of twenty full fists, sixteen of infantry and four of heavily armoured cataphract cavalry. Behind him were his own Imperial Guard, thirty thousand additional men accounting for the size of two full legions—and every single one a veteran of his own campaigns. His companion cavalry, comprising two full fists, would be fighting directly under his command and following his banner on the far left flank of the army, nearest to the hill where he had left Evangeline. The remaining 4 fists were positioned on the far right, atop a second hill, with the bulk of his infantry poised between them. They formed a subtle crescent shape, bowing inwards slightly towards the centre. Every man was equipped with either pike or halberd, with a heavy crossbow on his back and a short sword on his hip. The front lines had lowered their weapons before them, while the rear ones carried them, ready to set them down and take up those crossbows on a whim, allowing every man to switch roles as needed. They moved like a well-oiled machine. His guard positioned themselves behind him on the left, ready to act as a reserve force and close any holes that formed in his lines.
Across from them, on the open plain, stood more than a hundred and fifty thousand of the Vikari. Something like twice as many of them were mounted, but excluding their royal guard of perhaps two thousand, all were light cavalry with minimal armour. What remained were a mixture, perhaps thirty thousand elites which fought with sword and shield, a hundred thousand spearmen of various levels of training, from tribal raiders with decades of raids behind them, to conscripts who had never held a spear before his army had entered Vikari territory. As he had expected, the elites had claimed the centre for themselves, with the tribes claiming precedence on either side, leaving the conscripts on the outside, flanks protected by the light cavalry. Behind the whole army were a group of lightly armoured archers, equipped with a mix of long and short bows of a variety of styles, as though the Vikari had primarily focused on conscripting every hunter they could find.
His forces were outnumbered by a fair margin, but his entire army was armoured and trained—and his understanding of the Vikari mentality ran deep. He had thickened his ranks more towards the flanks, leaving the centre held by the most veteran of his legions, a Western force that had been combatting Vikari raids as a part of daily life since their inception. The other three covered roughly twice the area between them, leaving them with more reserves and a greater concentration of crossbowmen. He knew that the centre would hold against theirs, but also knew that the fight would not be won there. He needed to bring the fight to them on the flanks, push hardest where their troops were weakest and bet on his cavalry and the Imperial Guard as the winning stroke. If they broke through the Vikari cavalry or even drove them back, they could slam hard into the flanks on both sides and mow down the lines while the guard marched forward. With luck, by the time the Vikari elites realized the flanks needed help, they would already be encircled.
Across the field, a powerful echo of horns rose and like a single clap of thunder, the Vikari advance began.
The first few arrows were scattered infrequent things. Armed with so many different bows, the Vikari had few archers with a consistent range and men stopped to shoot as soon as they were near enough. The Imperial troops waited, still as statues, not even reacting when a rare arrow found a mark unprotected by helmet and armour. They waited, their officers measuring the distance of the Vikari charge pace by pace as the back ranks cradled their crossbows. James shouted the orders in his booming voice, each conveyed down the line by the officers.
"Legionaries. Crossbows raise."
A rippled of motion and sound as across the entire army, tens of thousands of men raised their crossbows to firing angle. The Vikari had reached the furthest edge of their range.
"Legionaries. Crossbows ready."
He drew his sword with the whisper of steel from leather and raised it overhead. Another shift as they moved their hands to the trigger. He waited. Let them draw in until enough men were in the kill zone that no bolt would fall short.
"VOLLEY!!!" He swung his sword downwards and in a single echoing snap, every crossbow down the line released. Bolts rose in a single arc, heavy steel heads eagerly seeking the lightly armoured Vikari. Like the breaking of a wave, they fell on the front ranks. On the far sides, with the weakest armour, two-thirds of the first line and half of the second were taken down, either dead on the spot or else wounded and trampled by their fellows. There were no minor injuries with such heavy bolts, even direct hits on armour could cause devastating blunt damage. His men worked in perfect sync, turning the cranks on their bows to pull the string taut, loading another bolt and firing as fast as they could. There were still waves of devastation as large groups with the same timing kept pace, but the hail overall was constant. Only troops in heavy armour and carrying shields were largely unscathed and as ordered, no crossbow aimed at them after the first volley. Instead, they sought the lightly armoured, the exposed and the vulnerable, mowing down the flanks even as they rushed headlong towards the pike wall.
The pikes and halberds lowered into their final positions, four ranks deep readying a wall of the weapons against the charging foe. The front lines of the enemy seemed to balk, but on the flanks, rather than readying themselves to push through for melee combat, the men behind pushed at the ones in front, driving them forward onto the pikes. What followed was a slaughter as his men, well trained and well equipped, began to cycle their strikes, stabbing out to find flesh and withdrawing to free the heads of those pikes and strike again. In the centre, they advanced more cautiously, keeping in formation, but here the halberds did their most deadly work. Striking out past the front lines of the enemy to avoid their defences and armour, they used their hook-like blades to grab men from behind, dragging them from the formation and onto the waiting pikes of other legionaries. The enemy probed, but it would be a long, bloody affair for them to break through the pike wall and reach proper melee range, while the heavy armour of his infantry allowed them some measure of protection against the more haphazard strikes.
His cavalry up until this point had simply held at the flanks, giving every impression of intending to remain a defensive force. Now, however, as the infantry were locked into combat, the horns sounded a trio of sharp notes and, as had been planned from the start, the heavily armoured cavalry rushed forward like a storm of lances, swords and steel. With little time to prepare, the light cavalry of the Vikari, intended for harrying and retreating, found itself locked into a desperate melee battle against men far better trained and far better equipped, unable to retreat without surrendering the flank of their infantry. And so they stood and fought, as the elite cavalry hacked their way deeper and deeper into their lines. James and his banner worked their way to the front and his blade cut man after man from the saddle, while his powers were unleashed in their most unrestrained form. Waves and lances of flame lashed out in front of him, burning men where they stood and weakening the morale of an already struggling line of defence.
Atop Mandarb, James found himself as the tip of the massive spearhead, leading his Companion cavalry straight through the heart of the enemy lines. Already their cavalry were starting to fall back, starting to buckle under the strain as his men hacked and hewed their way forwards. The infantry continued to engage, as did the larger force of cavalry on the right, meeting with an equal degree of success. The centre of his lines were slowly retreating, giving ground by increments and allowing their most elite forces to push forwards. This was as planned, putting the troops he meant to trap as far within the vice as possible. He could feel the pulse of the battlefield, the spring tensing and tightening as the enemy cavalry began to break. Then, all at once, they snapped, falling back in a mass that left most of their front lines to die on imperial blades as their officers rushed to restore order. As planned, one fist of his cavalry pursued them, determined to drive them away from the fight. James' force, wheeling, slammed into the side on many of the retreating horsemen and as they fell, crashed through into the unprotected flank of the enemy infantry. What followed was less a battle than a butchering, as barely trained boys and tired old men faced the most elite mounted troops the Empire had. Now, all at once, the Imperial guard charged, two full legions, a third of his force, rushing to join the cavalry in the assault. Half would join the fight on the flank, the other half would swing wide to attack the now exposed rear. The enemy commanders, scattered throughout and each seeking their glory, seemed not to notice what their cavalry falling back implied, while many no doubt assumed the guard was being committed to the 'losing' fight in the centre. On the far side of the battlefield, the right wing of his cavalry broke through. They were not so elite, save the Winged guard of Aden in their polished plate and bright blue capes, but their numbers were great enough that here, the cavalry failed to run. The winged guard swung wide and slammed into their retreat, causing what order had existed to collapse entirely. There would be no need for a pursuing force on the right, their cavalry was being butchered from three sides and in some cases, trying to force their way through their own densely packed infantry and escape the press of men and horses.
Now, he was certain, it was just a matter of time. His centre would keep falling back and soon, the Winged guard would take two full fists of cavalry away from the butchery; one to swing around and join the guard in assailing the rear, the other to rush the Vikari camp to slaughter and burn. If the sight of enemies on every side did not break them, the sight of smoke from the place where their families waited out the battle certainly would.
The cavalry, their Emperor at their head, continued to cut a bloody swathe through the enemy infantry. On the right, the Vikari infantry fell like wheat before the scythe and towards the back ranks on right and left alike, he could see the telltale signs of men readying to run. The first man to take one step would see hundreds follow for the second and the first officer to demand a halt would likely die with a spear in his gut. The Imperial Guard grew closer, readying to join the battle in strength and crush what remained of the left flank as the encirclement commenced.
He heard calls behind him of an omen as the tide of battle turned, of the ancestors favouring their cause and as his men surged forward, the flanks shattered in unison, men rushing back towards camp, only to find waves of cavalry ready to exploit the gaps they opened in the lines; riding in, lances lowered or swords drawn and cutting the formation to pieces. As the Winged Guard and others slammed into the rear of the Vikari centre, his own centre locked in place, suddenly refusing to give ground while the men still using crossbows on the flanks turned their fire towards the centre, killing men who tried to turn and meet this new threat.
James looked, seeking the sight he most wanted to see—the Vikari king's banner fall as his elite cavalry were overrun. He couldn't locate it in the centre, and for a moment, he paused. A spear was thrust up at him and he caught it, directing the point harmlessly to the side before opening the throat of its owner with a backhanded blow. It was then he heard the sudden thunder of heavy cavalry. The Royal Guard of the Vikari King, two thousand heavy cavalry, had swung away from the centre before the Winged Guard had arrived and now bore down on his standard. Above them flew the personal banner of the king, a Black serpent on Green, next to the Vikari wolf. At their head rode a heavyset older man in heavy gilded plate armour, carrying a large mace. He slammed into the Companions behind James, his banner toppling as the bannerman tossed it aside, drew his blade and surged forwards. The Companions met the charge with steel on steel, the impact blunted by the Vikari infantry caught between. James spurred forward and swung his blade, cutting down one of the Guards with a powerful blow, bellowing a laugh as the thrill of the fight overwhelmed him. His own infantry were closing in—and the Vikari king would not escape him this day.
James ducked another blow, sword driving up through the eye of the man who had struck it as he and the Vikari king, a man who, though he bore many years, seemed no less deadly for that fact, battled their way towards one another. One of his riders fell to the man's mace, and James blasted another Vikari rider off his horse with a burst of flame as they finally came within arm's length. A circle seemed to open around them, riders on both sides withdrawing slightly to leave room for this contest. James had often considered this moment, this point of inevitable contact between them. The Vikari followed the strong—and such a fearsome warrior king was a man James desired very much to test his mettle against.
Sword clashed against mace, sweeping the first stroke aimed at him aside. Neither man spoke, there was nothing to be said with words that weapons could not say far more eloquently. Mandarb kept steady, sensing his rider's concentration, Another strike from the mace, another careful deflection, then a blow aimed for the man's face that was deflected by his gauntlet. They danced back and forth, neither scoring a successful hit, neither gaining a distinct advantage. James was careful to judge his opponent, probing for weaknesses—and to his chagrin, not finding any. The battle raged around them, and this flank was now the thick of the fighting. The right had utterly collapsed, the centre now itself trapped and fighting on nearly all sides as his own centre began to retake ground and more cavalry joined the assault on the rear. All that remained was for the Imperial guard to fall on them, and the trap would close, leaving those men trapped within left to await their inevitable demise. Seeing the Vikari King fall might be the thing that saw their courage fail. He ignored the sudden rain, the thunder, only to feel a sudden surge of strength. He spurred Mandarb forward. The mace came down, but rather than glancing it off his blade; he raised his forearm. It caught and slid down, he grunted in pain as steel bent and sliced into his forearm, but it was the opening he needed. He struck hard with his blade and rang the King's helm like a gong, then when the man's head flew back, he stabbed just below the chin, driving it just above the gorget and into the throat. The man sputtered, blood pouring from his mouth and down his long white beard. "My mother's regards to you, traitor." He hissed as the man toppled. He could feel his arm bleeding, the muscle caught in his armour and risking damage if he used the hand. There was nothing for it, he pushed forward, fighting with one hand as a bloody melee formed. The Vikari surged, screaming for vengeance as they tried to reach the body of their king, the Companions surging to their aid of their Emperor, both betting everything on the timing of the Imperial guard's arrival.
Every swing of his blade, every ring of steel on steel, sent a jolt of pain up his arm. He used only his right hand on the blade, but his entire left arm blazed with the pain of the blow it had suffered and he could feel the sticky heat of blood inside his gauntlet. Fatigue rested on him with a weight far greater than that of his armour and though he still fought like a weapon made flesh, he could feel the point approaching where even his training and his powers would not be able to counteract it.
The sound came as a sudden roar over the din of battle. A single cry from ten thousand throats as the Imperial Guard joined the battle, pike wall driving hard against the Vikari lines. "The Dragon and the Lion, for the Empire!!!" They cried, even as within the vice, Vikari resolve collapsed. Trapped and only just realizing how tenuous their position had grown, their order disintegrated like sand piled before the storm. Some rallied and rushed the enemy lines, dying in droves as they tried desperately to fight their way free of the trap. Others turned and cut down the very officers trying to rally them, desperately seeking escape. More still began to cry for quarter, but by command, none was given. As the Guard swung into place around the rear and the left flank, any semblance of the battle as a battle vanished. Blood soaked grass and soil until a churned up mud the colour of rusted iron was all that could be seen underfoot. The wounded and the dying screamed discordantly with the chants of the imperial army. At long last, James allowed his sword arm to drop, fresh infantry taking over the fight from exhausted cavalry, who pulled back to watch the battle. He noticed that Evangeline's guard had pulled back—perhaps her stomach had not been up to the sights, he had noticed it seemed more delicate of late, perhaps a result of the diet of a marching army. Much to his chagrin, he saw Elizabeth's personal standard, indicating she fought on the field, flying low above the Winged Guard as they cut down men attempting to flee. He should have expected she would not stay away from the fighting forever, though she would need a strong tongue lashing for it.
Now, seeing the whole of the fight, he could see the devastation it had wrought. The pristine field was churned beyond recognition, the scent of blood was so strong it seemed to thicken the very air and the Vikari now crushed against one another, trying desperately to avoid the pikes and halberds that struck at them from every side. Men in the middle fell silent, unable to breathe even enough to scream as the force of thousands of men pressed in on them. And all at once, like the lancing of a boil, it was over, men throwing down weapons and falling to their knees by the thousands, only to find his forces rushing forward, fighting turning to butchering as the Vikari army was slaughtered. Most never picked up their weapons again as the guard's lines surged forward, men drawing short swords for the task of killing as the pikemen herded them towards the slaughter. He couldn't have said if the lancing lasted minutes or hours, but soon, an eerie silence fell, no sound could be heard save the groans of wounded men. His wounded, of course. The Vikari would have none of those—corpses couldn't beg for the attention of surgeons.
And then, over the calm, the cheering began.
James is my character (creative name, I know) and Emperor. The Vikari are his enemies, the Vaylendarans are Evangeline's people. Aden is a dutchy within the Empire
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James gives Evangeline the smallest nod of acknowledgment. Here, in front of his officers, he cannot be the man who fawns over his wife—but he can give her that final assurance before he leaves to see to his war. "General." He said, voice the booming echo of a battlefield commander "Raise the Imperial standard—and the banner of Vaylendara. I want these Vikari dogs to know who is killing them." He spurred Mandarb forward and headed towards his battle lines without a backwards glance.
Splayed out before him were sixty thousand of his legionaries. Four full legions, comprised of twenty full fists, sixteen of infantry and four of heavily armoured cataphract cavalry. Behind him were his own Imperial Guard, thirty thousand additional men accounting for the size of two full legions—and every single one a veteran of his own campaigns. His companion cavalry, comprising two full fists, would be fighting directly under his command and following his banner on the far left flank of the army, nearest to the hill where he had left Evangeline. The remaining 4 fists were positioned on the far right, atop a second hill, with the bulk of his infantry poised between them. They formed a subtle crescent shape, bowing inwards slightly towards the centre. Every man was equipped with either pike or halberd, with a heavy crossbow on his back and a short sword on his hip. The front lines had lowered their weapons before them, while the rear ones carried them, ready to set them down and take up those crossbows on a whim, allowing every man to switch roles as needed. They moved like a well-oiled machine. His guard positioned themselves behind him on the left, ready to act as a reserve force and close any holes that formed in his lines.
Across from them, on the open plain, stood more than a hundred and fifty thousand of the Vikari. Something like twice as many of them were mounted, but excluding their royal guard of perhaps two thousand, all were light cavalry with minimal armour. What remained were a mixture, perhaps thirty thousand elites which fought with sword and shield, a hundred thousand spearmen of various levels of training, from tribal raiders with decades of raids behind them, to conscripts who had never held a spear before his army had entered Vikari territory. As he had expected, the elites had claimed the centre for themselves, with the tribes claiming precedence on either side, leaving the conscripts on the outside, flanks protected by the light cavalry. Behind the whole army were a group of lightly armoured archers, equipped with a mix of long and short bows of a variety of styles, as though the Vikari had primarily focused on conscripting every hunter they could find.
His forces were outnumbered by a fair margin, but his entire army was armoured and trained—and his understanding of the Vikari mentality ran deep. He had thickened his ranks more towards the flanks, leaving the centre held by the most veteran of his legions, a Western force that had been combatting Vikari raids as a part of daily life since their inception. The other three covered roughly twice the area between them, leaving them with more reserves and a greater concentration of crossbowmen. He knew that the centre would hold against theirs, but also knew that the fight would not be won there. He needed to bring the fight to them on the flanks, push hardest where their troops were weakest and bet on his cavalry and the Imperial Guard as the winning stroke. If they broke through the Vikari cavalry or even drove them back, they could slam hard into the flanks on both sides and mow down the lines while the guard marched forward. With luck, by the time the Vikari elites realized the flanks needed help, they would already be encircled.
Across the field, a powerful echo of horns rose and like a single clap of thunder, the Vikari advance began.
The first few arrows were scattered infrequent things. Armed with so many different bows, the Vikari had few archers with a consistent range and men stopped to shoot as soon as they were near enough. The Imperial troops waited, still as statues, not even reacting when a rare arrow found a mark unprotected by helmet and armour. They waited, their officers measuring the distance of the Vikari charge pace by pace as the back ranks cradled their crossbows. James shouted the orders in his booming voice, each conveyed down the line by the officers.
"Legionaries. Crossbows raise."
A rippled of motion and sound as across the entire army, tens of thousands of men raised their crossbows to firing angle. The Vikari had reached the furthest edge of their range.
"Legionaries. Crossbows ready."
He drew his sword with the whisper of steel from leather and raised it overhead. Another shift as they moved their hands to the trigger. He waited. Let them draw in until enough men were in the kill zone that no bolt would fall short.
"VOLLEY!!!" He swung his sword downwards and in a single echoing snap, every crossbow down the line released. Bolts rose in a single arc, heavy steel heads eagerly seeking the lightly armoured Vikari. Like the breaking of a wave, they fell on the front ranks. On the far sides, with the weakest armour, two-thirds of the first line and half of the second were taken down, either dead on the spot or else wounded and trampled by their fellows. There were no minor injuries with such heavy bolts, even direct hits on armour could cause devastating blunt damage. His men worked in perfect sync, turning the cranks on their bows to pull the string taut, loading another bolt and firing as fast as they could. There were still waves of devastation as large groups with the same timing kept pace, but the hail overall was constant. Only troops in heavy armour and carrying shields were largely unscathed and as ordered, no crossbow aimed at them after the first volley. Instead, they sought the lightly armoured, the exposed and the vulnerable, mowing down the flanks even as they rushed headlong towards the pike wall.
The pikes and halberds lowered into their final positions, four ranks deep readying a wall of the weapons against the charging foe. The front lines of the enemy seemed to balk, but on the flanks, rather than readying themselves to push through for melee combat, the men behind pushed at the ones in front, driving them forward onto the pikes. What followed was a slaughter as his men, well trained and well equipped, began to cycle their strikes, stabbing out to find flesh and withdrawing to free the heads of those pikes and strike again. In the centre, they advanced more cautiously, keeping in formation, but here the halberds did their most deadly work. Striking out past the front lines of the enemy to avoid their defences and armour, they used their hook-like blades to grab men from behind, dragging them from the formation and onto the waiting pikes of other legionaries. The enemy probed, but it would be a long, bloody affair for them to break through the pike wall and reach proper melee range, while the heavy armour of his infantry allowed them some measure of protection against the more haphazard strikes.
His cavalry up until this point had simply held at the flanks, giving every impression of intending to remain a defensive force. Now, however, as the infantry were locked into combat, the horns sounded a trio of sharp notes and, as had been planned from the start, the heavily armoured cavalry rushed forward like a storm of lances, swords and steel. With little time to prepare, the light cavalry of the Vikari, intended for harrying and retreating, found itself locked into a desperate melee battle against men far better trained and far better equipped, unable to retreat without surrendering the flank of their infantry. And so they stood and fought, as the elite cavalry hacked their way deeper and deeper into their lines. James and his banner worked their way to the front and his blade cut man after man from the saddle, while his powers were unleashed in their most unrestrained form. Waves and lances of flame lashed out in front of him, burning men where they stood and weakening the morale of an already struggling line of defence.
Atop Mandarb, James found himself as the tip of the massive spearhead, leading his Companion cavalry straight through the heart of the enemy lines. Already their cavalry were starting to fall back, starting to buckle under the strain as his men hacked and hewed their way forwards. The infantry continued to engage, as did the larger force of cavalry on the right, meeting with an equal degree of success. The centre of his lines were slowly retreating, giving ground by increments and allowing their most elite forces to push forwards. This was as planned, putting the troops he meant to trap as far within the vice as possible. He could feel the pulse of the battlefield, the spring tensing and tightening as the enemy cavalry began to break. Then, all at once, they snapped, falling back in a mass that left most of their front lines to die on imperial blades as their officers rushed to restore order. As planned, one fist of his cavalry pursued them, determined to drive them away from the fight. James' force, wheeling, slammed into the side on many of the retreating horsemen and as they fell, crashed through into the unprotected flank of the enemy infantry. What followed was less a battle than a butchering, as barely trained boys and tired old men faced the most elite mounted troops the Empire had. Now, all at once, the Imperial guard charged, two full legions, a third of his force, rushing to join the cavalry in the assault. Half would join the fight on the flank, the other half would swing wide to attack the now exposed rear. The enemy commanders, scattered throughout and each seeking their glory, seemed not to notice what their cavalry falling back implied, while many no doubt assumed the guard was being committed to the 'losing' fight in the centre. On the far side of the battlefield, the right wing of his cavalry broke through. They were not so elite, save the Winged guard of Aden in their polished plate and bright blue capes, but their numbers were great enough that here, the cavalry failed to run. The winged guard swung wide and slammed into their retreat, causing what order had existed to collapse entirely. There would be no need for a pursuing force on the right, their cavalry was being butchered from three sides and in some cases, trying to force their way through their own densely packed infantry and escape the press of men and horses.
Now, he was certain, it was just a matter of time. His centre would keep falling back and soon, the Winged guard would take two full fists of cavalry away from the butchery; one to swing around and join the guard in assailing the rear, the other to rush the Vikari camp to slaughter and burn. If the sight of enemies on every side did not break them, the sight of smoke from the place where their families waited out the battle certainly would.
The cavalry, their Emperor at their head, continued to cut a bloody swathe through the enemy infantry. On the right, the Vikari infantry fell like wheat before the scythe and towards the back ranks on right and left alike, he could see the telltale signs of men readying to run. The first man to take one step would see hundreds follow for the second and the first officer to demand a halt would likely die with a spear in his gut. The Imperial Guard grew closer, readying to join the battle in strength and crush what remained of the left flank as the encirclement commenced.
He heard calls behind him of an omen as the tide of battle turned, of the ancestors favouring their cause and as his men surged forward, the flanks shattered in unison, men rushing back towards camp, only to find waves of cavalry ready to exploit the gaps they opened in the lines; riding in, lances lowered or swords drawn and cutting the formation to pieces. As the Winged Guard and others slammed into the rear of the Vikari centre, his own centre locked in place, suddenly refusing to give ground while the men still using crossbows on the flanks turned their fire towards the centre, killing men who tried to turn and meet this new threat.
James looked, seeking the sight he most wanted to see—the Vikari king's banner fall as his elite cavalry were overrun. He couldn't locate it in the centre, and for a moment, he paused. A spear was thrust up at him and he caught it, directing the point harmlessly to the side before opening the throat of its owner with a backhanded blow. It was then he heard the sudden thunder of heavy cavalry. The Royal Guard of the Vikari King, two thousand heavy cavalry, had swung away from the centre before the Winged Guard had arrived and now bore down on his standard. Above them flew the personal banner of the king, a Black serpent on Green, next to the Vikari wolf. At their head rode a heavyset older man in heavy gilded plate armour, carrying a large mace. He slammed into the Companions behind James, his banner toppling as the bannerman tossed it aside, drew his blade and surged forwards. The Companions met the charge with steel on steel, the impact blunted by the Vikari infantry caught between. James spurred forward and swung his blade, cutting down one of the Guards with a powerful blow, bellowing a laugh as the thrill of the fight overwhelmed him. His own infantry were closing in—and the Vikari king would not escape him this day.
James ducked another blow, sword driving up through the eye of the man who had struck it as he and the Vikari king, a man who, though he bore many years, seemed no less deadly for that fact, battled their way towards one another. One of his riders fell to the man's mace, and James blasted another Vikari rider off his horse with a burst of flame as they finally came within arm's length. A circle seemed to open around them, riders on both sides withdrawing slightly to leave room for this contest. James had often considered this moment, this point of inevitable contact between them. The Vikari followed the strong—and such a fearsome warrior king was a man James desired very much to test his mettle against.
Sword clashed against mace, sweeping the first stroke aimed at him aside. Neither man spoke, there was nothing to be said with words that weapons could not say far more eloquently. Mandarb kept steady, sensing his rider's concentration, Another strike from the mace, another careful deflection, then a blow aimed for the man's face that was deflected by his gauntlet. They danced back and forth, neither scoring a successful hit, neither gaining a distinct advantage. James was careful to judge his opponent, probing for weaknesses—and to his chagrin, not finding any. The battle raged around them, and this flank was now the thick of the fighting. The right had utterly collapsed, the centre now itself trapped and fighting on nearly all sides as his own centre began to retake ground and more cavalry joined the assault on the rear. All that remained was for the Imperial guard to fall on them, and the trap would close, leaving those men trapped within left to await their inevitable demise. Seeing the Vikari King fall might be the thing that saw their courage fail. He ignored the sudden rain, the thunder, only to feel a sudden surge of strength. He spurred Mandarb forward. The mace came down, but rather than glancing it off his blade; he raised his forearm. It caught and slid down, he grunted in pain as steel bent and sliced into his forearm, but it was the opening he needed. He struck hard with his blade and rang the King's helm like a gong, then when the man's head flew back, he stabbed just below the chin, driving it just above the gorget and into the throat. The man sputtered, blood pouring from his mouth and down his long white beard. "My mother's regards to you, traitor." He hissed as the man toppled. He could feel his arm bleeding, the muscle caught in his armour and risking damage if he used the hand. There was nothing for it, he pushed forward, fighting with one hand as a bloody melee formed. The Vikari surged, screaming for vengeance as they tried to reach the body of their king, the Companions surging to their aid of their Emperor, both betting everything on the timing of the Imperial guard's arrival.
Every swing of his blade, every ring of steel on steel, sent a jolt of pain up his arm. He used only his right hand on the blade, but his entire left arm blazed with the pain of the blow it had suffered and he could feel the sticky heat of blood inside his gauntlet. Fatigue rested on him with a weight far greater than that of his armour and though he still fought like a weapon made flesh, he could feel the point approaching where even his training and his powers would not be able to counteract it.
The sound came as a sudden roar over the din of battle. A single cry from ten thousand throats as the Imperial Guard joined the battle, pike wall driving hard against the Vikari lines. "The Dragon and the Lion, for the Empire!!!" They cried, even as within the vice, Vikari resolve collapsed. Trapped and only just realizing how tenuous their position had grown, their order disintegrated like sand piled before the storm. Some rallied and rushed the enemy lines, dying in droves as they tried desperately to fight their way free of the trap. Others turned and cut down the very officers trying to rally them, desperately seeking escape. More still began to cry for quarter, but by command, none was given. As the Guard swung into place around the rear and the left flank, any semblance of the battle as a battle vanished. Blood soaked grass and soil until a churned up mud the colour of rusted iron was all that could be seen underfoot. The wounded and the dying screamed discordantly with the chants of the imperial army. At long last, James allowed his sword arm to drop, fresh infantry taking over the fight from exhausted cavalry, who pulled back to watch the battle. He noticed that Evangeline's guard had pulled back—perhaps her stomach had not been up to the sights, he had noticed it seemed more delicate of late, perhaps a result of the diet of a marching army. Much to his chagrin, he saw Elizabeth's personal standard, indicating she fought on the field, flying low above the Winged Guard as they cut down men attempting to flee. He should have expected she would not stay away from the fighting forever, though she would need a strong tongue lashing for it.
Now, seeing the whole of the fight, he could see the devastation it had wrought. The pristine field was churned beyond recognition, the scent of blood was so strong it seemed to thicken the very air and the Vikari now crushed against one another, trying desperately to avoid the pikes and halberds that struck at them from every side. Men in the middle fell silent, unable to breathe even enough to scream as the force of thousands of men pressed in on them. And all at once, like the lancing of a boil, it was over, men throwing down weapons and falling to their knees by the thousands, only to find his forces rushing forward, fighting turning to butchering as the Vikari army was slaughtered. Most never picked up their weapons again as the guard's lines surged forward, men drawing short swords for the task of killing as the pikemen herded them towards the slaughter. He couldn't have said if the lancing lasted minutes or hours, but soon, an eerie silence fell, no sound could be heard save the groans of wounded men. His wounded, of course. The Vikari would have none of those—corpses couldn't beg for the attention of surgeons.
And then, over the calm, the cheering began.