The First Battle

Each of the captains led their units on horseback, she marched with platoon five out of the gates onto the snowy path. Trees were marked with different slashes of knives. Platoon five broke off toward the southeast in the direction of Shimmerrain hills.
Twenty minutes in, and she felt the discomfort of marching with so many soldiers. Chimi huffed and swallowed the discomfort of the real march. Sweaty armour, her brow bristled, cold sweat all over and the cloak tugged at her when the wind picked up. She yanked and tied it down with her belt.
Everwinter’s breath flooded her nostrils. Roots were broken underfoot by purposeful stomps, a few trips from other soldiers as new as she was, with veterans behind who lent assists to those who fell too far out of line. Chimi tripped twice until they reached a break around an icy lake after an hour.
The sound of another march brought the fourth platoon into view, and salutes were given and received. Poole heeled his horse over with a few veterans, Blake, Gibson, Lloyd and Mell, to discuss. She saw others around her take off their helmets to relax, so she did the same, albeit a divide was clear between her and the rest who remained. For comfort, she focused on the matters of today.
She was on the field, she had potential for magic which means she could become a key variant in combat. If she gained experience and expertise in magic, she would stand a strong chance of combining the two to ascend the ranks and attain power.
Chimi stared at her helmet as if it held a glimpse of her future, Empress of Eiramoor. I will rule the entire nation. But she needed to offer something beyond conquest: First, the unification of Alba was necessary.
She seized a moment to observe her surroundings and ignored the false hunger that set in from the discomfort of being away from home and father. She inhaled the icy air, observed the trees that towered over buildings in Emmerlaine. The sky, blanketed by white fluffy clouds, but she felt like she was in the correct place. It was cold, but she wanted the heat of battle, the glory that men talked about and the aftermath of it. She needed to feel the brunt of the lines and get into the graft.
“Attention!” Poole bellowed, and Chimi set her helmet on and tugged it for comfort, “March north west, Fae presence confirmed in the Shimmerrain hills, we are set to engage!”
“The glory.” She whispered.
“Arse up, oathbreaker.” Natalie said, “Time to earn your pack-ins.”
“Natalie.” Harrison snapped at her.
The brunette-haired vulpine woman tugged her helmet on and fell back in line beside Chimi with her mouth clamped shut. Chimi did up the straps, gripped her spear and shield. The platoon began the march, and Chimi found herself forced out of her place, then found herself stuck between the veterans and the boxies.
“You can stay here.” Someone beside her said, “But you take your crow arse back up with the ice licker boxies.”
“Yes, sir,” Chimi replied.
“Damn oathbreaker.” He growled
The march across the forest had her stub a toe twice and nearly trip over roots tugged upwards. A few veterans muttered curses until one of them piped up.
“You dirty crowhead knobjockies, if you don’t stop root tuggin’, we’ll fuckin’ beset you with the Fae to lose your cocks!”
Mutters of apologies followed from the rookies up ahead.
The march continued in silence, snow crumpled under boot with the sound of vegetation stomped down. The tree lines began to thin as they reached an opening between Emmerlaine’s regular territory, where the hunters had been attacked and the place where the Croms had roamed to attack. Chimi spotted movement in the corner of her eye, about a mile up, something moved between the next set of trees.
She peered closer and saw crooked wooden appendages, roots dragging across the ground and branches twisted like fingers that reached for sunlight that scorned them. “On the right, sir,” she said to the veteran, “Look.”
“Stop talkin’, Boxie— PREPARE FOR COMBAT, LESHII ON APPROACH AT THREE O CLOCK!”
She fell in line as the shield wall formed up. She wished she had some magic she could cast to help the frontline. To show that she was not a worthless word breaker assigned as a regular soldier. Dante shoved Chimi forward in the lines. Now she found herself at the front with the veteran men. There was only one other woman who did that, and she was nowhere to be seen from Chimi’s vision.
Chimi drew a ragged breath and steadied her heart, spat out her nerves and her fear. The corrupted trees broke out from the line of wood. Chimi saw other soldiers to her left and her right while she looked straight ahead tug down their eye shields. She did the same as a branch about twenty metres in length came up and whipped at the line. She felt the impact eject wind from her lungs; she inhaled to maintain her place in line. Her legs trembled.
Hold the line, hold the bloody line. The world came back into focus, and she heard Poole shout instructions barely audible over roars and grunts from the fever of impact. Arrows and javelins flew through the air, pierced targets. She felt distortion in the air as mana discharged into surges of magic when flames erupted from the javelins bound by a mage’s blood or were set to a delayed eruption. She wondered how that worked.
“INCOMING!” soldiers in line with her shouted. Her attention snapped back to combat.
Another root impacted the shield wall. The smack knocked some wind out of her, but she felt better. Steady, she needed to be like Dad. The corrupted trees began to pull back as the ranged attacks grew fiercer, salted arrows and javelins pierced them, withering bark and stem. Whips trashed and crumbled on contact. Shields splintered, but now pushed back to bring the line forward. Leshii began to screech that horrid sound barely in hearing range. She was soaked in sweat, but the roar of fire in the pit of her gut began to exhilarate her. A primal thing hereditary in the bloodlines of Eiramoor. She wanted to get stronger, to get into the thick of it.
Embers of flames burned in the trees that barely moved. She kept her shield up, then lowered it once everyone else did.
“Form up, continue the march!”
Chimi managed to get back in formation. Dante stuck out a leg to trip her up, but she stepped over it and resisted the urge to kick his manhood.
“March!”
The thunder of boots continued against the snowed woods, she felt less clumsy. The sweat made her skin bristle. She’d get used to this, she grit her teeth. Her arms felt like they were on fire, like she’d just beaten Father for the first time. She wanted more. Her mouth salivated. She needed more combat against the Fae.
*
Half an hour of a hard march had her in a warry mood, ready to put down some more Fae, Poole half mocked the troops as he rode up and down the line to check the pace of the fifth. Chimi had now been shoved up to the back of the spearhead.
Scouts arrived on horseback to exchange quiet words with the heads of both platoons. Poole and Harvey discussed something quietly while she kept her eyes trained ahead. The awkward feelings had dissipated. The sound of trampled roots and leaves was a small comfort. Dad’s training was bloody hard, the breathing in extreme mountain air simulated by mages had her never out of breath. Other boxies and recs around her started to huff and puff, she felt small pride in this.
Another hour passed by with their speed still high, and Chimi felt the strain of hunger finally set in place of the false hunger of discomfort. Real marching in the outdoors was only a bit harder on her body.
“Chimi.” One of the veterans said from behind, “Have you been given suggestions on your armour from the first battle from your sergeant yet?”
“No.” She hoped to avoid the topic.
Mutters came from the veteran unit until the man spoke again, “You’re a blight from what everyone sees, but more useful alive with how you held with us. March with me, boxie.”
Dante muttered a curse when the man forced him to march between veterans and recruits, “I am Gibson.”
Chimi observed the scar from the man beside her, named Gibson, “Where did you get that scar?”
He blinked in confusion, “You’re not looking at my face.”
“I can see you.” She said, “I have always been able to see like this.”
“That is a gift,” Gibson said.
“What is?” she said.
“Nobody has that kind of vision, girl.” He chuckled briefly, “March on.”
Twenty minutes. They reached the first hills of the Shimmerrain valley. On their ascent, Chimi could hear the sounds of battle. Shields being slammed by roots, the explosions and resonance of lightning spells cracking the air, followed by the hollow shrieks of fell Fae. Almiko’s mercy, she could smell the foul grots in the air emanating from the nest of the twisted, venomous Fae. She could feel the faint hunger for warfare grow.
Aetia crafted us for the West gods, war in our ashes and cinder, violence in the clay, hatred in our spirits to plunge our weapons in the heartless chests of daemons, heretics and fell. Sothlechae.
“Schiltrons form, stay in your sections!” Poole bellowed, “Boxies support, veterans take the front, we are going to flank the Crom Cruach and Leshii!”
They sorted into formations, Chimi went to get into line but found herself pushed by her fellows and veterans who gave her side-eyes of distrust. Gibson, however, grabbed her arm and drew her to him and gave her a stern nod.
She relented.
He raised his spear, “Captain, Gibson here, I request a word!”
“Out with it!” Poole rode to their side.
“She’s got eyes like an owl, if she’s trained by her father, she can snipe like a Uwain hunter.” Gibson said, “We could use her on horseback for you know bloody what.”
“She’s a boxie and Angus’ child.” Poole said, “If you want to execute your plan, then ask the commander yourself.”
“If she’s got anything to do with the prophecy, we could use the fortune to destroy Odibrand,” Gibson said with a daredevil’s smile.
“Awfully quiet for someone getting a gift of privilege, girl,” Poole said.
“If I can be of assistance, I will do as required.” Chimi said humbly, “If I can be put to use to attain victory, I will go far and beyond.”
Gibson patted her on the back, “Wait for us,” he ran back off into the platoons and emerged a minute later with a group of soldiers. Annabella, daughter of Dane, Caitlin, Lloyd, and others, she did not know.
Gibson stood before her, “Blades of Emmerlaine, this is the key to our formation.” He gestured to Chimi.
A few of them scoffed, some gave nods and murmured amongst themselves.
“Chimi, let me tell you about my ideas for what this squad’ll do...”
*
Chimi followed Gibson and the rest of his group up the snow-covered hill. The clouds had ceased snowfall, and the winds had slowed as if they waited in anticipation for this battle. The land awaited cleansing. The two-hundred-year-old willow tree, tall as these giant hills, stood tall and resisted the shadow scar on the land that was the Reisblight that spawned the fell Fae. She resisted the urge to raise her arm to cover her nostrils from the tar-stained soil.
From the left, arrows flew, spells shattered the lines of Leshii and Lesniks with no crom cruach in sight. The fell trees carved spells into themselves and responded with woodland spirit summons and corruptions of nearby creation to stabilise their barriers to deflect weaker spells, which only led to escalation. Chimi’s eyes found a battery of mages that had Eleanor at their spearhead.
Inside the Reis, she could smell the putrid malediction of birthing Vileroot inside their barrier that shielded them from the outside. She could sense the masses of shadow that bundled atop one another to forge the misanthropic malice required eventually. Every book she had read which did not have much detail on it indicated that a larger blight was required. Chimi’s first thought went back to Eleanor; she must see an opportunity in this as the mage who usurped Emmerlaine’s mage tower. She had to learn to see such things also.
Gibson began the march down toward the main forces, while Poole had the fifth and Harvey had his fourth gathered to make the charge when the time came. Chimi’s heart thundered with anticipation as they descended. She’d have to confront the nerves and strange feelings that bubbled beneath her consciousness. What killed new soldiers is what the reflection. She swallowed the feelings with the dregs of saliva in her dry mouth and took a modest gulp from her water pack.
She saw the eyes of the fell Fae, too human, too feeling and familiar like those eyes of her siblings of Emmerlaine who glared at her. She spat, but her mouth was parched. Chimi swallowed more water and dried her lips with her gambeson sleeve.
The glory, she thought to herself, the glory.
The line of veterans at the front of the main forces took a swing from a larger Leshii that had broken forward. Weapons were dipped in salt and ripped chunks out of roots, shrivelled them. Poole bellowed for fire, arrows, and javelins hurtled through the air and hit the Lesniks in the back line, who were summoning more Leshii and their kind.
Chimi tugged her helmet down behind Gibson’s unit, clutched her spear and shield as they entered the main forces, curses were muttered. Glares were flashed and teeth were bared at her. All they saw was the girl who was supposed to be a boy at birth, rite, covenant and prophecy. And now, their lands were plunged into division and infection by the fell. She marched on and ignored them.
“Blades of Emmerlaine.” Gibson said, “Chimi was trained to breathe in mountain oxygen and through heavy deprivation in drowning circumstances. She will be more than useful.”
“Respect.” One of the men said, “I’m Lloyd.”
She nodded, “Chimi.”
He jutted his head upward.
Chimi took small comfort in the show of respect.
Gibson marched them toward the commander’s guard between platoons and sections, snow had been piled up and kicked over. Father positioned on a platform beside Eleanor, they both turned to glance at the approaching unit and then Chimi. Father looked less than pleased in the eyes, but to most, his indifferent expression would fool them. Eleanor looked amused, primarily at Gibson’s approach and bold confidence.
“Gibson.” Dad said, “Why did Poole accept you now?”
“Because of your daughter’s extremely wide vision, sir.” He replied.
Dad returned his eyes to the battlefield, “And what of it?”
“We should hit the Vileroots early, with Chimi on horseback with salted arrows and our salted blades, we can cut through.” Gibson said, “We can decimate the young hive and cause enough damage through salting the Vileroot sack.”
“Eleanor,” Dad said.
“It is a sound plan,” Eleanor said.
“That’s not what I asked for.” Dad curtly replied.
“If we let her go, we will see something special.” Eleanor said, “She is waking since the Urien Room.”
“Waking?” Dad asked, “You want me to gamble a unit and my daughter over some planker nonsense?”
“We’ll keep her safe, sir.” Gibson said, “We don’t want to graft a Vileroot.”
“Take these,” Eleanor stepped forward with a sack held out to them, “At your request, Gibson, bound materials that can be used by a mage… and you have found one with the potential to ignite them.”
“Those javelins,” Chimi asked, “How did they erupt while not touching the mage who bound them?”
“Delayed casts, scrawled into the binding.” She said, “I can teach you that and many more deadly methods, child.”
“Cease.” Dad halted his horse beside them, “I’ve been given no good reason as of yet.” His eyes narrowed on Gibson and the rest of the unit he called the Blades of Emmerlaine. “What is this man’s plan, Chimi?”
“My wide vision with a bow and arrow will allow me to shoot down Leshii when we pierce them with a wedge formation. I would have the best viewpoint to throw the salt to keep them from collapsing behind us. Once the Vileroot sack is poisoned with salt, we will breach their barrier and slay the Crom-Lesnik Elder inside.” She said, “It’s a sound plan, but would be better supported by a sweep into a wedge charge.”
Gibson chuckled, “Like father, like daughter.”
Dad looked back at the other captains and gave the nod, “We’ll follow you in the instant we have slain the outsiders.”
“That may not be necessary, commander,” Eleanor said with excitement, “We’ll get to see something special.”
“Assign these fools some more guards,” Dad said, “We can’t go losing valuable soldiers such as Annabella and Lloyd to Killy Gibbs’ machinations. Send for Charles to attend me, and Kennedy, find Chimi a horse and short-bow!”
“What might special involve, planker captain?” Gibson tossed the bag back to Chimi.
Eleanor waved him away, “You’ll see first-hand.”
“Hendricks,” Dad called, “Ride with them and inform Hammond. Send two scouts to inform Gibson of current updates, then get them back to me.”
“Let it be done.” Hammond heeled forward, “Godspeed, you blunthead lunatics.”
Kennedy rode in with and exchanged looks with Hammond, then her father.
“Chimi.” Dad said, “Stay alive.”
She saluted.
The tall, lanky man, Kennedy, swung down from his horse and led it over to Chimi, “If you fail, you holmgang.” He grunted, “My son is dead, fighting in the schisms your birth caused.”
Chimi clenched the reins to avoid tugging on her helmet, “Victory or death.” She said, “War and Everwinter.”
“War and Everwinter.” He saluted and fixed her with a hard stare before he marched off to join Father’s guard.
Chimi hooked her spear and shield onto the horse’s side. Swung up onto the horse and slid the short bow out of the saddle’s side pack, slung the quiver over her shoulder before she took up her spear again.
“MARCH!” Gibson bellowed as they rucked toward the killing fields. Chimi’s grip on her spear tightened; she heard shields crack from an enormous root that struck. Javelins hailed from the side platoons four and five, now manned with a front line ready for hill climbers. Arrows rained, cheers filled the air as the sweep formed. With more troops, they could mount an echelon sweep to break the lines. But that required her to be better, to attain respectable status among her fellows.
She took comfort again, and she marched to battle with the sons and daughters of her home. Toward the warped Fae that deserved their scorn. She could not make critical mistakes that would have her sit down; she would not back out. This is where she was needed.