Ambush at Twilight

The sun had dipped between the tree line when their column was attacked. 

Their cohort of three hundred was battered and marked, the scars of defeat wearing them all down. Armor that had once gleamed in the sunlight had now become scratched, dented, and rusted. Pikes were held in worn leather clad hands, whilst sabers were belted at the waists of each soldier. The metal masks of bearded men attached to Morion helmets stared forward, blank and emotionless, hiding weary gazes. In the center a few dozen men marched, arquebuses leaned on their shoulders. Each soldier in that column wore a simple cloth pack on their back, filled with what provisions they could grab from the baggage train of their former army before they were forced to flee for their lives. 

Now, they marched as vagabonds on a forlorn dirt path through dark woods, miles from the city they had sworn to relieve and on the verge of despair; a far cry from the imperious host that had gone to save their country from the deprivations of the Barbarian Kaiser. At the head of the column two figures rode, slumping into the saddles of their steeds,  dressed in a similar fashion and state of dress as their comrades, save for the lack of a helmet and the addition of a cloak for each. Their horses ironically were the most well kept of them all, despite the mud and ash that stuck to their legs and hooves. Stoically they clopped forth on that dirt path as their riders bickered in low voices to each other. 

“Maria, have you lost your mind? We need to take our forces and relieve the siege of Massalia!” One of the armored figures raised a canteen to cracked lips, taking a sip before stowing it away. Gloved fingers stroked a thick mustache. His interlocutor raised an eyebrow and threw an arm towards the ragged force behind them. 

“With what army do you intend to break the siege with, Gabriel? This paltry band?” A flip of braided hair accompanied the question. “Or are you referring to the army of conscripts and lordlings that was massacred not three days ago by the pet pirates and brigands of the Kaiser?” Gabriel glared at her, anger in his hazel eyes. 

“We have to do something besides run away with our tails between our legs!” 

“We are doing something,” Maria replied. “We are taking the remnants of our regiment to rendezvous at the nearest mustering army after we survived the one sided slaughter that was the battle near Massalia.” Gabriel gaped at her. 

“If we don’t do something, then the infidel Alaric will sack Massalia!” His face turned red. “We can’t just leave our countrymen to their fates.” Maria brought a hand to her face and sighed.  

“There is nothing we can do, you fool. Even if we had the numbers to challenge Alaric’s army, by now Massalia will have either surrendered-unlikely though that is-or her people will have been slaughtered and the city taken. Regardless, our only option is to join up with the next force that we come across.” Her companion scowled. 

“First we sully our honor by running away like cowards, now we abandon our people to death and slavery at the hands of the Kearls,” he remarked bitterly. “Will the shame never end?” Maria glowered even as his words pierced her heart. 

“Be grateful that we were able to escape that massacre with our lives, let alone our dignity.” She brought a hand up to massage her temples. “Besides, if that idiot Don Francois Devereaux de la Valliere had listened to the advice he was given, we never would have been taken off guard by Alaric’s barbarian horde.” The two of them winced as they both vividly recalled the arrogant fop who had led their army before its destruction. They both shivered as they remembered his cries for help as he was ruthlessly cut down by Kearlic axe men, the sight of his head being lifted up on a spear scarring their memories forever. 

The two of them feel silent, the events of the past week catching up to them. Memories ran through their minds, memories of screaming and of running, of gunfire and the clashing of arms. Images they recalled, of pike squares clashing against phalanxes and testudos, of lines of armored lancers crashing into each other, of the senseless and mindless chaos that characterized a battle. With those memories came the shame and guilt of defeat and of lives cast away in vain. Fire and smoke and the scent of blood clung to them, as inescapable as death. 

The weight of monumental loss of life and prestige hung heavy on the shoulders of everyone present, Maria and Gabriel slumped on their horses and the broken infantry at their backs hunched over and slouched as they marched. The light of dusk cast them and the forest they were in into deep shadow. 

Off in the bushes on the side of the path, a twig snapped.

Maria and Gabriel snapped to attention, heads swiveling to either side. Their horses whinnied nervously, ears lowering. The two officers exchanged glances. Just as they grabbed the reins and prepared to wheel their mounts around, it happened. Falling from up high, a small form bundled in leathers and furs slammed into Gabriel, an ax clenched in one hand and wearing a black helmet. As the individual landed they reached over and grabbed Gabriel by the back of his breastplate, yanking him from the saddle and onto the ground as Gabriel let out a shocked cry. His horse panicked and leapt ahead, abandoning his rider. Immediately cries of alarm rang out from the cohort as they witnessed one of their officers attacked. Without hesitation Maria drew the saber at her side and steered her mare over to Gabriel. Before she could go to his aide she felt several hard impacts against her back, accompanied by the sound of metal being pierced followed soon by fire racing through her spine. Before she knew it her sword had dropped from nerveless hands and her body slid from her seat and collapsed onto the hard dirt. As her head lolled to the side, Maria’s blood raced as her ears witnessed the cries of fear and terror her men made along with the sound of pikes being dropped and swords drawn. The distinct crack of guns carried into the evening air, as did the twang of bowstrings and the thunder of grenades. The tell tale war music of steel sliding through flesh was a dim hallmark to the grisly affair. 

As the guttural voices of Kearls crowed in savage delight, Maria gritted her teeth and fought to stand, the ferocious war cries that she barely understood lengthening the effort. Her body filled with liquid agony, she slowly got to her feet and stood, her cloak falling from her shoulders and pooling on the path. Turning her head, the sight she was greeted by brought tears to her eyes. The soldiers she and Gabriel had painstakingly rallied and led for so long were now being overwhelmed by the miniature devils that had brought them all so much death and pain. Umaneans clad in their dented plate armor now fought back to back against the squat Kearls, clad in chain maille, round shields in one hand and swords or axes in the other, the Kearls striking at the legs of their taller foes. When she saw their helmets Maria’s heart increased its staccato rhythm, horror building in her head at the wolf's head designs, all the while projectiles rained down from the trees. Slowly, as if in a trance, Maria reached over to where she had dropped her saber and picked it up in a loose grip, limping over on screaming legs to where her fellow had fallen. 

With unseeing eyes Maria looked over the corpse that had once been a friend, her mind unable to comprehend his passing. Staring at the body, Maria bent down, her back crying out, and with three fingers closed his eyes and moved his cloak so that the ruined mess of his throat was covered. Straightening up, Maria peered once more at the ambush she had unknowingly led her men into. 

A war cry to her left saw her idly adopt a fencer’s stance as a Kearlic warrior rushed her, sword in hand. Her mind blanked as the Kearl’s body fell, her sword painted red. She blinked, and she was back at the fields belonging to Massalia, the Umanean army dissolving as deserters fled and those who stayed perished. As her sword dipped and twirled and parried and slashed, Maria could hear nothing, save the clashing of swords and the wails of the dying and the damned. The guns had gone silent at last.

 Her muscles aching, mind blank, she fought amongst her comrades against the Kearlic invaders, even as her countrymen died around her. Suddenly, she stumbled over a body, and the disastrous battle where tens of thousands of her people died was gone, returning her to the forest path where her cohort was almost wiped out by a Kearlic war party. Alas, her misstep was her undoing. Before she knew it, an ax swung around and hooked on her boots. With a yank when was pulled off her feet, falling on to her front upon the corpse ridden ground soaked with blood. Her blade was wrestled from her grip, and through the corner of her eye she spied several Kearls approach her with spears pointed at her. For a moment, she felt a desire to struggle, to thrash about, to resist, but the burning sensation throughout her body ended that desire, instead replacing it with acceptance. She closed her eyes, expecting to feel steel punching into her form. Instead, many hands pulled at her, dragging her over the slain, most of them her fellow Umaneans sent to the afterlife before their time. Opening her eyes, Maria, looked up just to see the Kearl who had initiated the entrapment walk by, winged helmet gleaming in the twilight. Trepidation filled her as chips of ice stared down at her. Finally, he gestured over to the bushes and shrubbery that lined the side of the road and barked at the Kearls holding her. For a moment Maria blinked. Did I hear that right…..????

Once  more hands grasped at her, and she found herself being dragged towards the side of the path. Realization hit her like a bullet, and self preservation rose from the grave within her. She flailed her limbs about, fighting against the pain, before new pain burst from the side of her head courtesy of an ax shaft. Stunned, she could do nothing as she was helplessly carted over to the underbrush that had hidden the warband, her throat dry and unable to cry out even if she had wanted to. The last thing she saw as the light of day faded away was Gabriel’s killer standing there as the corpses of her fallen countrymen were looted for valuables, all the while his words echoed in her ears, as apathetic as it was cruel. 

“Do what you want with her,” he had said in their savage tongue. “But do it quickly.”