Chapter Ninety: Hestings' "Reply"

“Let’s make a wager!”
“Let’s bet... that Hastings won’t really fight us to the death!”
Aderick and Fat Ruhl made their decision!

By midnight, the soldiers, having barely rested, were already armed and ready for battle!

The cavalry tightened their saddles, polished their lances until they gleamed, removed the feed bags from their horses’ heads, then patted their beloved steeds softly before mounting.

In the darkness, the cavalry formed up; under the officers’ stern, hushed urgings, they held their heads high, marching forward slowly while adjusting their lines to perfect order.

The wedge-shaped assault formation was now drawn up on the open plain. At the very front stood the heavy cavalry under Commander Socia, charged with smashing through the Odinists’ siege army head-on, and their task was nothing less than a complete breakthrough! In the center was Ruhl’s Sixth Corps. The infantry had discarded most of their equipment; only those on the flanks carried weapons, armor, and shields, while those in the middle wore only their uniforms. They were not required to fight—their sole task: to run! To run for their lives! Once the heavy cavalry broke open the Odinist lines, they would have to dash through the entire enemy front at the risk of their lives.

Falling in at the rear was the Fourth Banner of the Thirteenth Cavalry Regiment! Its standard-bearer, Fonata, was a thirty-seven-year-old, archetypal Byzantine imperial, from a family of middling nobility. He had joined the army as a young man, and as a mid-ranked sixth-level warrior, he had only three fingers on his left hand—the other two had been lost five years earlier to frostbite on the empire’s northeastern frontier.

At thirty-seven, Fonata was entrusted with a critical task: to guard the rear! Not only did he have to watch for the Odinist army, ever tailing them with a mocking bugle as if seeing them off, but he was also responsible for covering their withdrawal with a desperate stand should the main force’s assault on Hastings’ division meet disaster.

When Aderick gave Fonata his orders, he kept a stern face and said quietly, “You may die.”

Upon hearing this, the thirty-seven-year-old Fonata’s expression remained steady; the resolute lines of his face did not shift in the slightest. He did not utter a word. Instead, he straightened before his general, struck his chest in salute, then turned on his heel and strode away.

The assault was to be launched just before dawn—always the time when men are most fatigued, their vigilance at its lowest ebb.

The assault force moved slowly across the plain toward their goal: the besieged garrison.

When the vanguard was less than three li from Hastings’ siege army, the clarion call of the charge finally sounded!

The bugle tore apart the silence of night! To its stirring notes, the cavalry shouted with all their might, digging their heels into their mounts, urging them forward in a wild, thundering charge!

Dawn—the darkest hour before the day—seemed as if the heavens themselves sided with Byzantium: thick clouds blotted out every star.

With the blaring horns, the dense cavalry surged across the plain like a torrent of black clouds!

Hastings’ besieging army, arrayed in a crescent before the garrison, found the cavalry’s chosen breach right at the center!

No sooner had the Byzantines’ bugle sounded than Hastings’ camp was thrown into chaos—shouts, the neighing of horses, torches flaring up in confusion everywhere.

Socia’s heavy cavalry led the charge, horses armored, men in full plate, lances leveled. They swept across the plain like a storm. Even in the night, the surging black cloud of their advance was plain to see. The vanguard quickly crashed into the Odinist camp, forcing a breakthrough right at the center!

The rear of the camp was only lightly fortified; simple palisades crumbled under the heavy cavalry’s mad assault. The heavy horsemen plunged into the heart of the Odinist camp, all around them turmoil—Odinist warriors running and crying out, tents trampled underhoof, fires flaring from discarded torches. The clamor of battle and the thunder of hooves shook the night as if the very earth trembled in the darkness!

Socia’s heavy cavalry met little real resistance, plunging straight into the heart of the siege army. Their charge, their overwhelming force—no Odinist could withstand it with mere flesh and blood. Only as they penetrated deeper did the Odinists begin to mount a meaningful resistance; clusters of warriors formed pockets of defense, and small bands of reindeer cavalry harried the heavy horse, slowing their advance step by step.

By then, the Sixth Corps infantry following behind had also fought into the Odinist camp. Fat Ruhl rode with his men, clad in a full suit of heavy cavalry armor—a necessity, for his mount was of the finest breed, and anything less would have collapsed under his weight and armor.

Fat Ruhl rode at the center, a long-handled battle-axe in one hand, surrounded by his bodyguards, shouting orders as fast as he could. The Sixth Corps had dispatched over ten special squads whose task, after breaking in with the heavy cavalry, was to fan out, running as they went, setting fires everywhere—tents, stores, wooden fences, anything that would burn. Clearly, these arson squads were no amateurs: as they set blazes, they shouted hoarsely in Odinist, sowing confusion.

General Aderick, with his bodyguards and remaining forces, charged in the third wave, plunging into the Odinist camp through the din of battle. The vanguard’s heavy cavalry fought bitterly to clear a path; the fat man’s men set fires with wild glee.

Everywhere, chaos—men and horses tumbling, flames leaping, shadows running and shouting.

(Too easy! Far too easy!) Aderick’s heart was wary even as he shouted for his troops to quicken their pace!

The Fourth Banner, responsible for the rear, was composed of light cavalry, joined by Wenya and a detachment of bodyguards. As the main force broke through, the rear guard advanced cautiously. Fonata’s face was solemn as he rode beside Kevin; behind them, they could already hear the distant commotion—the Odinists who had “followed” them for days were on the move, their ox-horns blaring, hoofbeats thundering. Clearly, these men would not miss the chance to bite hard!

In the darkness, Hastings’ camp had fallen into utter chaos. The heavy cavalry vanguard had achieved the unimaginable: they had smashed through Hastings’ camp! They had done it—the point of their attack now jutted beyond the enemy lines, and in the distance, just across the battlefield, lay the garrison walls!

But at this moment, whether Socia at the front, Ruhl in the center, or Aderick himself, all felt a heavy question pressing on their hearts.

(Hastings! What will he do?)

As if some invisible hand had drawn all fate’s threads together, just as this question surfaced in the minds of the Byzantine commanders, Hastings made his move!

A sharp, urgent blast of the ox-horn split the night! From both flanks of the assault, a sudden clamor of shouting and killing erupted within the camp—Odinist war cries, the screams of horses, bears roaring, deer bellowing...

From both sides of the assault’s path, two black torrents—like predators lurking in the dark—found the enemy’s weak point and pounced!

Like a pair of pincers, they clamped down hard on the assault force!

Hastings had acted at last—his timing clear, his intent unmistakable.

His target: the rear guard.

He truly had no intention of fighting to the last man. But if the Byzantines wished to pass his lines, they would pay a price!

That was Hastings’ answer.

The vanguard and center had already fought their way through the camp. The heavy cavalry at the front were drenched in blood and sweat, their armor running red. Ruhl’s infantry, exhausted, could barely breathe.

Hastings had abandoned a head-on defense, even drawing troops from his camp, but his real killing blow was aimed at the tail of the attack.

Aderick heard the Odinist shouts on both flanks—but the sound was not coming for him, but sweeping toward his rear! At that moment, Aderick faced a terrible dilemma:

Turn back and fight?

Or keep moving forward?

As commander of the Thirteenth Corps, Aderick gritted his teeth and roared, “Forward! Keep moving forward!”

The twin black torrents crashed in from left and right, converging with a thunderous roar. At their front charged the Odinists’ most fearsome troops: the Berserkers!

These black bears, clad in heavy armor, tore into the rear guard. In moments, dozens of bear warriors formed a living wall, blocking the path.

The cavalry of the Third Banner showed no fear. With wild cries, they charged with leveled lances, but those in the lead were swept down, man and horse, by the bears’ charge. The rest pressed forward, thrusting their lances at these monstrous foes.

The formation was soon stretched apart, then completely severed.

More and more Odinists surged forward. In the moments the bear berserkers held the cavalry at bay, the road ahead vanished. When the cavalry, at a terrible cost, finally brought down those dozen towering beasts, the ground was littered with corpses—men, horses, bears. And before them, the Odinist reindeer cavalry were almost upon them!

There was no more road—only the gleam of Odinist axes!

The reindeer cavalry swarmed in, layer upon layer, wrapping the Third Banner’s rear guard like molasses—dense, inescapable. From behind, Kokoran’s pursuing force closed in, their attitude now anything but mocking. The reindeer cavalry roared, chasing with savage glee...

Then chaos ensued.

The rear guard was now a formation in name only. Caught between the Odinist pincers, they were quickly chopped into three isolated fragments, scattered like pools of black across the plain, soon enveloped by ever-thickening waves of Odinist troops.

The clash of blades on armor, the piercing of flesh by spears, the screams of wounded men and falling horses, the final cries before death...

Steel and blood were now inseparably mingled...

The garrison gates swung open. The exhausted heavy cavalry of the vanguard poured in. Socia could hardly catch his breath. Even though Hastings had gone easy, the heavy cavalry at the front had borne the brunt of the path-clearing and lost nearly a fifth of their number. No armor was black now; all were a ghastly red.

Next, the fat man’s infantry scrambled through the gates. Once inside, the men of the Sixth Corps collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Half the arson squads had been lost in the chaos.

When Aderick led the remnants inside, not a single Odinist soldier pursued them. The battlefield behind was eerily empty, the cries of battle fading in the distance. All around, torches flared, turning night into day.

Hastings’ answer was clear: “My appetite is not so great. Taking your rear guard is enough.”

Aderick’s heart bled. He knew his banner was trapped, but he was powerless.

Every last ounce of strength had been wrung from his cavalry; the heavy horse could fight no more. And Ruhl’s men... They were infantry! It was folly to expect exhausted, half-armed foot soldiers—after three days and nights of forced march—to return to the field and die!

Damn it! If only I had a fresh force—even a thousand—no, five hundred! If only five hundred could break out, perhaps more brothers could be saved!

At that moment, Aderick heard a deep, powerful shout:

“Clear the way! Make way!”

The voice rang with authority. Then, from within the garrison, came the rhythmic thunder of hooves! With a veteran’s ear, Aderick recognized the sound—these were horses brimming with energy, well-rested and eager.

A squadron of cavalry burst forth. Though by Aderick’s standards, their gear was hardly elite—only half their mounts could be called true warhorses, while the rest seemed little more than ponies, nags... or even mules?

Yet the riders sat tall and proud, their eyes blazing with vigor and strength!

At their head was his own newly recruited, greenhorn bodyguard, swinging a battle-axe, charging at the fore, his weapon cleaving the air as he shouted, his voice ringing clear above the tumult:

“Follow me! We’re going to rescue our brothers!”

The thunder of hooves—one by one the riders roared, following Chaya, sweeping past Aderick like a tempest and surging out through the wide-open gates!

In that instant, though they numbered only two hundred, their charge roared like an army of thousands!