The Thunder of Hooves

“In a world of peace, power is nothing but the seed of calamity. In a world of war, weakness is but an invitation for destruction.” -Excerpt from ‘The Warrior and the Farmer’

“Are you sure this is wise, Your Excellency?” Demna asked as she mounted her horse. She was clad in white, form-fitting brigandine with a black wolf-head painted on the chest. Her arms and legs were plated in silvery metal, and she carried a polearm. The haft was three feet long, with a curved sword blade of equal length at the top, the backside of which had a spike for puncturing armor.

“I am,” I responded, already astride my own war horse. The beast’s muscles flexed beneath my weight, and it whinnied in eager anticipation.

Demna let out a long sigh, the strongest reaction I had seen from her yet, and shook her head. “Why are you so intent on thrusting yourself into danger?”

Margaret sidled up to us. She wore her typical black plate, but the red waffenrock over it was also painted with a wolf-head. Her mace hung at her hip, and a kite shield was strapped to her left forearm. “There’s no use in trying to convince him otherwise, Demna. Once he has his mind set on something, the gods themselves couldn’t keep him from it.”

“At least promise to stay close to Margaret and myself, please?” Demna pleaded.

“Fine fine, as you wish,” I said. The truth was, my stomach was knotted in fear at the prospect of open battle. My physical and magical skills were intact, and I was confident I had the ability to hold my own in combat, but warfare was different than taking down some back alley ruffians. I fought down the nausea, an increasingly common feeling.

The rest of troops were already gathered behind us, assembled in twelve neat rows, five across and five deep, each one astride a two thousand pound war horse. The beasts were armored, and wore black caparisons with my royal crest embroidered on each side. The courtyard was large enough to accommodate the mass of humanity, but it was still a tight fit.

“Your Excellency,” Gerard said, bowing. “Do you intend to take the field yourself?”

“I do,” I said, and gave an exasperated groan at the repeat inquiries. “Open the gates, we march.” Denma and Margaret flanked me on either side, hemming me in like protective parents.

The gate guard cranked a wheel, and the portcullis lifted in steady increments. Gerard rode ahead of us, and a bannerman raised our flag overhead to signal our march.

The lands outside the city walls were low, rolling hills, covered by knee high grass. A gentle wind stirred the stalks, their amber colors muted in the pallid moonlight. The horses whinnied, tugging at the reins, excited to be let loose for the first time since arriving in this strange new world.

We rode in a wide arc around the city, keeping the tall curtain walls between us and the enemy encampment for as long as we could. As soon as the gates closed behind us, the Alphas began their assault on the enemy encampment, so noise was less of a concern than being seen.

We rounded the eastern walls, and pulled up short, watching from a short distance as fire rained down on the strange creatures. Flames leapt from a dozen hands on Gran’s towers. The magic followed an arcing trajectory, then slammed into the enemy with explosive results.

Screams rang out in the night air, and confusion set in. The odd creatures organized more quickly than we had anticipated, and they began to retreat down the far side of the hill, fleeing the destruction.

“Forward charge!” Gerard shouted, pointing his sword toward the enemy.

We rode full tilt, our armored horses barrelling ahead like steam engines, and slammed into their flank. We took them like a thunderstorm, biting into their force with devastating effects.

We were physically larger than they were even without the horses or plate armor, our smallest man still a head and a half taller than them. With the added weight of steel and horseflesh, they were no match for us in a contest of strength. Margaret ripped through the battlefield, employing her usual strategy of releasing a continuous aura of pure, fiery mana while she struck down foes with her mace. She had never been good with traditional, controlled magic despite her large mana pool, instead she devised a strategy that worked for her—unrefined mana like hers usually took on the form of whatever element a person had the most affinity for, in her case fire, so she wreathed herself in an aura of fire and fought like a berserker. When she first learned the technique, she had been unable to differentiate between friend and foe, but over time she learned how to not burn her allies.

Denma was more controlled in her approach, using her halberd to control the space between herself and her opponents. She had little in the way of magical skill, but she was an expert at melee combat and it showed. She struck down foe after foe, her breathing steady and calm.

The rest of the guard fought in loose formation, careful not to let any enemies slip between them. We had set the ambush up to encircle them and completely destroy their force, leaving retreat up the hillside and into the rain of fire as their only avenue of escape.

The battle lasted for less than twenty minutes, and when it was over we had massacred over seventeen hundred of the two thousand assembled creatures. A few managed to escape, but the majority of the rest were either injured or captured.

In the aftermath, we scoured their encampment for anything of note. Their banners had all burned away under the assault, but we did recover a stockpile of rudimentary weapons and armor. With that, we gathered the prisoners of war and retreated behind the walls once more.