Vanian Year 1105

 

Marianne crouched down, scooping up a handful of sand, feeling the dry blades of grass brush across the back of her hand like steel bristles. 

 

The sand was fine like powder, light enough to be carried across the sea by the northern winds, and they poured between her fingers like a leaking wineskin. A storm had blown over them like just the night prior, and they had all huddled together praying to whatever divines could hear them that their tents wouldn’t collapse on their heads - or worse, be uprooted from the ground. The winds howled all night like a beast, and the next morning they found the battlefield showered in a layer of fine sand - and five-hundred dead or missing, having been ripped up in their sleep.

 

“Something interesting, my lady?” Dieter asked.

 

“Have you ever seen blood on sand, sir?”

 

“Can’t say I have.”

 

“Neither have I,” she agreed, “But I imagine it would only make the ground more unsteady than it already is.”

 

“Not so, my lady,” Karl von Epp offered a hand, which she accepted, “Blood will bind the sand together, making it firmer. It is a good day to battle.”

 

Indeed, today was a clear day - a rarity in the north. The storm seemed to have blown all the dust from the skies, leaving it bluer than it ever would, even to the effect of hurting Marianne’s eyes. Lone islands of clouds drifted in the sky, providing some gladly received shade from the sun’s baleful eye.

 

With the help of the Quraysh, they had managed to find a most advantageous battlefield. Their vast host silently marched into formation on the crest of a great shallow bowl leagues across. To their east was the lazy glitter of the River Sirhan, which flowed down into the depression, binding their right flank. To the east was a treacherous crag known locally as Jabal Bayk protecting their left flank. With their army pinned between the two natural barriers, the demons would not be able to make use of their larger numbers.

 

The Wadi al-Dahl spanned the battlefield, a tributary that ran from the Jabal Bayk down to the River Sirhan. It has since dried up due to the summer, and half-filled with sand from the sandstorm the night prior, leaving it nothing more than a shallow gash in the earth that cut the field in two.

 

On the other side of the Wadi al-Dahl, the lair of the demon armies was an impressive thing to behold. Raised atop a bluff facing the river was a fortified camp. Deep ditches led to a palisade built atop a base of beated earth, topped by spears and abatises - where demon soldiers seemed to keep watch all night and day. Ritual chanting could be heard even under the black sky, and dancing shadows upon flickering flames could be seen impressed upon the walls of their fortifications.

 

Suddenly, the gate of their encampment burst open and a horde of plague-bearers poured out, their colourful dresses and metal ornaments a foul mockery upon their deathly black skin. Their quartered shield of the Crescent Alliance flew high over their army, alongside red-bordered yellow banners. 

 

Their unpleasant chants carried over the valley to their ears - the strange, guttural tongue they spoke in made her feel sick to her stomach. And she could even spot them dancing and whooping with wooden clubs and blood-painted faces as they prepared for battle.

 

“No time to lose your luncheon, Maria,” Karl chided, “Get on your horse, and remember the saintess’ stratagem. If all’s well, we shan’t even need to see battle.”

 

The reddish sun was directly overhead when the first horns bellowed across the valley floor. The drums started, and the entire army advanced as one, their heartbeats pounding in time with the rhythmic beating of the drums. Pennons snapped and danced in the wind as men roused themselves by whooping and praying, and officers rode up and down the line shouting words of encouragement.

 

Marianne herself was in the reserve of the right flank, leading the landsknechte behind al-Menfi’s jaish al-zahf foot soldiers. Since she was but a greenhorn, she was ordered to act as Karl von Epp’s supporting officer, in a section of the battle that was least likely to see battle. Since she was a noble - an Edelhardt at that - Marianne was by technicality Karl’s superior, but she was of enough sense to know that the seasoned mercenary had aeons more experience than her.

 

Over her right shoulder, she could see the Quraysh tulay'a mutaharikkah lead by al-Menfi’s subordinate Abbas as-Saffah. They were the finest cavalry the Quraysh had to offer, mounted atop legendary desert coursers. Chainmail hidden under colourful silk surcoats and decorations glittering on the breasts of groomed steeds, they were the very picture of elite cavalry.

 

Suddenly, a whistling noise pierced her eardrums, though she could not discern where it came from. At first Marianne thought herself mad from the heat, but only a glance at her men she realised all of them heard the same vicious noise - and clapped over their ears in scrunched faces as they tried to block it out.

 

“There it is,” Karl von Epp grumbled, “Bloody bullroarers.”

 

“Bull…roarers?”

 

“It’s a kind of flute,” he explained, “A box on the end of a string and when you swing it around it catches the air and makes a whistling sound. You can hear it from leagues away, and all animals can hear it depending on your technique. Makes it good for herding sheep - or commanding armies without emptying your lungs.”

 

The entire demon army surged forwards in a single faceless tide, unorganised beyond running in the same direction. They blackened the very earth in their vastness, and dust clouds left in their wake seemed to be sandstorms of their own right. Squinting, Marianne spotted a thin line of demons remaining on the hilltop, where in the centre the banners of their leaders flew in the wind.

 

Suddenly, the Quraysh cavalry beside them turned on their heels and bolted away from the battlefield, retreating a safe distance away before stopping by the river.

 

Karl von Epp eyed them, but did not seem moved in the slightest.

 

“The same opening,” he grinned, “Every single time. They never disappoint.”

 

The captain nodded at her, and Marianne sucked in deep breath.

 

“ALL BANNERS!” she screamed, “RÜCKENSCHILD!”

 

Her words were echoed down the line as similar orders were roared throughout the combined army. In response, the soldiers separated into squares of five-hundred with the perfect discipline that was borne from a seventeen years worth of battle. Wood and steel clanked as the Rückenschild formation was adopted - a condensed shield wall where shields both faced headlong as well as over their heads, turning each block of men into a shell.

 

With nary a moment to waste, the sky darkened as countless arrows were loosed into the air - arcing over the heads of the demons in the valley and blotting out the sun. Marianne turned her horse around and galloped safely out of range.

 

Steel rain thudded against the barren dirt and shattered against locked shields uselessly. The combined army unflinchingly marched through the hail of deadly arrows without hesitation, taking slow but measured steps to the beat of the war drums so as to not lose their footing on the unstable slope. Marianne was so enamoured with the sight before her that she was only jarred back to attention by a stray arrow slamming into her breastplate, nearly throwing her off her horse.

 

“Careful there, little lion,” one of her bodyguards warned, “You may be wearing armour, but even men in armour can be killed. Pay attention.”

 

“Duly warned,” she caught her breath.

 

Marianne was adorned in full plate, as befitting of a noble. Her helmet was a sallet with a hinged visor, which protected her head, eyes, and nose, but left her mouth open - which was instead guarded by her gorget. It was by intention, for having an open mouth allowed her to be heard easier, which was necessary for a commander, and her hinged visor allowed her to lift it over her eyes and command a fuller view of the battlefield.

 

Her armour was also tailored to her exact measurements, and featured numerous Edelhardt devices - most prominently the silver lions gilded onto her pauldrons. 

 

The hail of steel subsided, and Marianne raced back towards the line, lifting her visor up. The battlefield was littered with arrows impaled into the ground, shattered shafts and dislodged arrowheads. Already the men were lowering their shields and shaving off any arrows still lodged into them.

 

“Anhalten!” she shouted, “Halt, halt!”

 

The entire right flank slowed to a stop, and settled into a static shield wall. Meanwhile, Marianne glanced over her shoulder to see the left flanks still marching forward, until the entire line turned into diagonal slant.

 

This was Saintess Elisabeth’s stratagem, the oblique order. The very best of the combined army’s troops were concentrated on the left flank - the famed Caroline gendarmes and Reicher reichsritter. Beside them were the professional men-at-arms of both Schwerin and Joyeuse, who held the centre. On the right flank were the mercenaries and irregular troops, which marched with a delayed step to lag behind. The elite Quraysh cavalry positioned behind the right was merely a safeguard, in the unlikely event that the right flank breaks.

 

A clarion call resounded across the battlefield, rising in pitch until the hairs on the back of Marianne’s neck rose with it. And then the earth rumbled beneath the hooves of three-thousand of the finest shock cavalry Vania could offer. It shan’t be a sight she’d soon forget - the saintess’ personal standard leading the gleaming tide of silver and steel thundering down the hillside without missing a stride. The knights hastened from a canter to full gallop, killing lances out and levelled.

 

The entire army seemed to hold its breath as they watched the knights charge headlong into a collision course with the demon host. Marianne tensed for the impact, eyes fixed on three-thousand knights as they crashed into the enemy.

 

She unintentionally flinched when the knights ploughed straight into the demon line - and kept going. There wasn’t even a single pause in their step as they scythed through thousands of demons like wheat and trample them under their armoured hooves. The sight was soundless for the distance between them was vast, and it was as if she was watching insects battle - but the sight of gleaming armour flattening everything in its path was unmistakable.

 

“More pleasurable than any whore, watching that,” Karl von Epp grinned like a madman, “ALL BANNERS, FORWARDS!”

 

The soldiers released an eager roar, and lurched forwards in lockstep to meet the foe. Already, the left flank was embroiled in battle as the frontlines collided with each other, and as the day prolonged, so did the wails of dying men and twisting steel crawl further up the line. Marianne’s heart pounded in her ears to the beat of the drums, and even simply waiting she found it terribly hard to breathe.

 

Saintess Elisabeth’s strategy was simple; her knights would break through the demon’s right flank and circle around the centre, while a detachment would continue onward to threaten their leader and encampment. This would lead to a full rout by the demons, preferably before they could even reach the right flank.

 

There would be no help from Jan Pasha’s host, for there had been no word from them for the past sennight. Many have already feared the worst, but not Marianne - for if they have been defeated then surely the demons would be prancing around with their heads on pikes and taunting them with tattered horsehair standards. Alas, as it were, no aid could be expected from the Kazimierzi, wherever they were.

 

But as Marianne peered west, she could no longer make out the knights past the turmoil of dust and steel. The winds were picking up again - returning with a vengeance - and the sand at her feet was shifting once more. All she could make out was movement from the enemy - large enough to be seen through the rising haze - entire blocks of demons pouring into the breach to presumably plug the gap created by the knights.

 

“They are in far too deep,” Karl muttered, “Shock cavalry isn’t light cavalry, they can only go in a single direction once they start - forwards. Those knights have no choice but to press through and come out the other side, or they are going to get bogged down and slaughtered.

 

Marianne watched with rising horror as more and more demons swarmed towards the knights in innumerous hordes, charging into the fray with reckless abandon, kicking up a great duststorm that threatened to swallow their entire flank. The demons were sending in all their reserves, as if they knew what their plan was.

 

“What are we to do, then?” she asked.

 

“Pray,” he answered grimly, “And keep marching forwards to keep the pressure on the demons. It’ll make sure they don’t get any funny ideas about helping their fellows.”

 

But Marianne was no longer listening, for her gaze was caught upon enemy movement once more. The red-and-yellow banners have left the hill at the forefront of at least a two-thousand cavalrymen bedecked in silk and gold, and were rumbling down the hillside into the backs of their footmen in the valley.

 

“Stop the march,” she blurted out, and the officers around her stared at her in disbelief.

 

“Maria, what in hells’ name are you on about?”

 

“Stop the march,” she repeated, “We need to brace the line before they reach us!”

 

“Girl,” an officer started brusquely, “When they charge, we need to meet with a countercharge else they’ll run us over. If we stop the line-”

 

“Use your divine-damned eyes for a moment, will you!?” Marianne abandoned her composure, “Those banners are coming right for us - they know our plan! Charge all you might, nothing can stop heavy cavalry at full tilt!”

 

“What in the-” 

 

Karl suddenly swore loudly, “Bloody hells, I see it now. These old eyes of mine aren’t working as well as they used to.”

 

“Truly?” the officer asked, “Well, then I ought to retire, because I can’t see anything.”

 

“Maybe we should,” Karl said thickly, “If a girl of seventeen summers has better sense than we. Maria, you will command the reserves under Eitel - the rest of you, with me!”

 

Karl von Epp whipped his reins and shot forwards, screaming “anhalten, anhalten!” at the top of his lungs, his retinue close behind him. 

 

Marianne shifted in her saddle, “Sir Arwin, go inform Eitel of the new charge. And tell him- tell him to stand his ground, until I say so.”

 

“Understood, my lady.”

 

Marianne had five bodyguards assigned to her by her granduncle - veterans who have seen most of the war - and along with her own household troops, she had two dozen men with her. 

 

“Sir Hansch, go tell as-Saffah to get his men ready-” she interrupted herself, “No, tell him to bring his men here.”

 

“Is he going to listen?” Hansch said nervously, “He might just take my head.”

 

Abbas as-Saffah was a brutal man who had earned his epithet as-Saffah - the Blood-Shedder - in a particularly bloody battle near the beginning of the war. The man was constantly frothing at the mouth to kill demons, and has participated in every sortie just for the slightest chance to wet his blade. Word of mouth said that he was a bodyguard of a Hawazan princess, and has been zealous in his actions to avenge her.

 

“He must,” she answered, “Or he’ll send his cavalry straight into the front once the demons break through, wasting them all.”

 

“You speak as if it is certain the demons will, my lady.”

 

“Let’s pray they do not, but I’m not one for chances. Go!”

 

Sir Hansch gulped audibly before racing off upon his horse. Eitel had a thousand men under his banner, not enough to make any significant change on their own. If she used them as standard reserve, she wouldn’t be doing anything beyond throwing more meat under the butcher’s knife. 

 

One-thousand men, she had at her disposal, and five-hundred cavalry, if as-Saffah listens to her. Every order she gave had to be worth its words.

 

Marianne returned her attention to the battlefield, where the enemy army was splitting before the onrushing demon cavalry like river water before a rock. Eventually, they burst out of the army and began settling into a headlong charge up the hill - which was too gentle to slow them down.

 

Staring down the line of onrushing cavalry, Marianne swallowed thickly and resisted the urge to remove her helmet in order to wipe the sweat stinging at her eyes. Thank the divines she had relieved herself before the battle, else she might’ve just done so now - and she wasn’t even at the front.

 

The demon cavalry crashed into the frontline with a thunderous roar, and completely levelled the first few lines of men under their glittering hooves. Marianne brought her waterskin to her mouth in order to wet her dry throat, eyes peeled on the attack before her. Eitel’s men were getting restless as they stood by watching their comrades in front of them get cut down like sheep.

 

The raucous cacophony of bent steel, shattering spears, hoofbeats and the overpowering sound of screaming men reached her ears like the so-called orchestra of battle she had heard off. She could see Karl’s small figure racing up and down the line, telling the men to hold their positions as the main body of the demon army collided soon after, sending the entire front reeling back.

 

“My lady!” Sir Dieter shouted over the din of battle, “The Quraysh are breaking!”

 

Marianne’s gaze snapped towards the right, only to see the Quraysh lines slowly cave in. A single glance at the banners told her why; the demons had charged right into the split between the landsknechte and jaish al-zahf, where coordination was weakest - and had cut straight through like a knife through butter.

 

The jaish al-zahf were modelled in the image of the mighty Quraysh armies of old, but in truth they were mostly refugee volunteers armed and trained by what few veterans remained. Over seventeen long years of war, their numbers have been whittled down both by age and death in battle. And unlike the rest of the combined alliance, their numbers aren’t replaced so easily.

 

Marianne watched with heavy breath as the demon cavalry shattered the Quraysh and burst into the rear lines - but instead of continuing through, they wheeled around and began pushing the Quraysh into the River Sirhan, creating a breach in the lines. 

 

“My lady,” one of her bodyguards gruffly said, “We were given orders to evacuate you should your position be threatened.”

 

The entire combined army was crumbling all across the line. Marianne could no longer tell what was happening in the west, but it was clear that Saintess Elisabeth’s strategy had failed - her vaunted cavalry was nowhere to be seen. And try as they might, but they simply couldn’t hold back the weight of seventy-thousand demons on unstable ground. All of the reserves were already being sent to the front in a vain attempt to prolong the fracture of the line, but it would only be a matter of time.

 

They were going to lose.

 

What should she do? Marianne couldn’t do anything, she only had a thousand swords. Nothing that could change the tide of battle.

 

Her breath caught in her throat as a pressure on her chest swelled. Her horse shifted nervously beneath her, sensing her grievous anxiety. Even as she faintly felt Sir Arwin’s presence return, she kept her eyes on the crumbling army that was gradually losing ground. 

 

“My lady!” Arwin screamed in her ear, “Eitel wants orders!”

 

Marianne swallowed. Should she just send them in? But that would be a waste of men - but what else could she do?

 

What would Nike Aessetos do?

 

Marianne did not know. She was not Nike Aessetos.

 

Every man has a mind, she remembered, and once you discover how your foe thinks, you shan’t ever lose a battle against them.

 

The demons had discovered how they thought - the demons knew in advance that this was the strategy they would adopt. It allowed them to counter them most magnificently, turning a probable victory into an inevitable defeat. 

 

The only thing she could do… is turn this defeat into a salvageable one.

 

“Tell Eitel to attack the rear of the demon cavalry!” she ordered, swinging her ride around, “I need them to pin their horse in place!”

 

To his credit, Arwin understood the urgency in her voice and did not argue, instead riding back down to Eitel’s banners.

 

Turning around, she honed in on another man, “You, tell Karl von Epp to hold open the breach!”

 

“My lady, shouldn’t he close it? It will stretch his banners thin!”

 

“I need him to keep it open!” she pressed, “He needs to stop the demons from flooding through, yes, but he also needs to hold the door open for us! Only one man has the authority and presence to make such a mad manoeuvre, and it's him!”

 

“At least you understand it’s mad, my lady,” the man sighed, before galloping off.

 

Marianne couldn’t wait any longer, she snapped the reins of her horse and bolted down the line towards as-Saffah’s position as if she were possessed by the spirit of battle, half-mad and desperate.

 

“Abbas as-Saffah!” she screamed as she forced her way through the Quraysh positions.

 

She saw the man holding his saif to Hansch's neck, his face scrunched in a rictus depiction of pure rage. Admirably, Sir Hansch held his place, glaring right back at the man. Seeing this, Marianne drew her sword - and her retinue followed her lead. In response, steel rang clean as the Quraysh responded in kind, daring them to make a move. 

 

“Abbas as-Saffah,” she warned with a confidence she did not have, “That is my man you are threatening.”

 

“Edelhardt!” as-Saffah snarled, his eyes like smouldering charcoal, “You dare tell me to abandon my sire!? I ought to carve out your bloody eyes for the dishonour you do me!”

 

“You have twenty score men,” she rebuked, “You will do nothing more than throw yourself to your death!”

 

“I’d rather die-”

 

“You will listen to me, damn your soul!” Marianne roared, and the man’s eyes widened.

 

“Right now,” she growled, “My men are dying by the droves to make you a path! You want to go straight to the Sacred Mountain? I’m making you an entire bloody highway!”

 

A bellowing battle cry resounded over the plains, and Marianne watched as Eitel - bless his soul - boldly charged over the plains at the head of a thousand landsknechte, crashing straight into the unsuspecting rear of the demon cavalry. The mercenaries fought like divines-possessed, swinging their zweihänders wildly. Each sword was a man tall, and the mercenaries masterfully wielded them to cleave the horses’ legs through like butchers, killing the demon’s mounts from under them.

 

Further front, Reicher banners were snapping wildly in the growing gale as Karl von Epp's contingent broke ranks with the battleline and boldly charged out, colliding with the approaching demons before they could pour into the breach. Not a moment later, their banners tumbled out of sight as the Reicher line nearly snapped under the weight of the enemy. Marianne’s heart could've shattered at sight, but a moment later a single standard was raised again, rallying the troops.

 

“Look there, as-Saffah,” she hissed through gritted teeth, “My countrymen are dying for you, opening a path for you!”

 

It was hard to make out through the riot of battle, but there was indeed a small gap between Karl von Epp’s banners and the demon cavalry pushing the jaish al-zahf into the river. Small, but wide enough for some ten horses to ride through abreast.

 

And beyond that was the flowing red-and-yellow banner of the plague-bearer general.

 

It was a highway to certain death.

 

“Can your men make it through!?” she demanded, “Or have we wasted our efforts!?”

 

Abbas as-Saffah’s black gaze was hard, but his lips betrayed a vicious grin - and Marianne knew she had him.

 

“Insha’alihat,” he dipped his head before her, “We can do it.”

 

The man reared his horse, lifting his saif to the scarlet sky.

 

“Come, men!” the Blood-Shedder roared, “We ride to our glorious deaths! Bism’alihat!”

 

“BISM’ALIHAT!” the Quraysh cheered.

 

A horn was blown, and the tulay'a mutaharikkah quickened into a canter, urging their horses into a seven-file column as they went. Marianne watched as they expertly weaved their way through the chaotic battlefield, snaking through the gap in the battleline - the Quraysh star and crescent banner in the lead. 

 

As they emerged on the other end, they sped into a gallop as they rallied around the banner into a solid block without losing a step. Their colourful silk garbs yet unmarred by the blood and dust of action flowed over the battlefield, killing lances lowered and gleaming under the setting sun. 

 

And then they were upon the enemy.

 

There was no sense of impact, no thunderous crash. The tulay'a mutaharikkah melted into the rear of the demon army and speared them from behind. Nary a moment later, they reached the red-and-yellow banner and toppled it.

 

At first, nothing happened - the battle continued to rage, and Marianne’s heart started to sink, thinking it was all for nought. But then, something shifted in the air, and her ears picked up a panicked cry in the plague-bearer tongue.

 

Then, it was as if their entire flank recoiled. The demons suddenly peeled off Karl von Epp’s contingent and began running in the other direction - and from there their entire battleline started to collapse in consequence, splintering into a thousand small bands of demons fleeing back to their camp. As if sensing the change in the tide of battle with one mind, the combined army pushed back with renewed vigour.

 

Marianne laughed aloud, feeling lightheaded - and she daresay excited - from the sight of fleeing demons. She could sense her retinue’s bewildered stares upon her, but she could not care in the slightest. Marianne lost herself to glee, as if she were possessed by the divines.

 

“My lady!” one of her Sir Dieter shouted, “Watch yourself- all of you, protect the lady!”

 

Her head snapped to the side, and her eyes widened when she saw an enemy horseman galloping their way. But the demon wasn’t charging, no, he was fleeing - he had lost his helmet, and his silk and mail armour was in tatters. The demon’s eyes were dilated in frantic desperation as he raced away from the collapsing army. There wasn’t even a blade in his hands.

 

One of her bodyguards broke ranks and raced to intercept him, thrusting forward with a long lance and spearing the demon like a fish - lifting him off his saddle and slamming him into the ground. Marianne urged her horse forward against the warnings of her retinue, and looked down to see the demon clutching his chest, red blood frothing from his mouth.

 

Staring at his dirt covered face and wild eyes, she thought that if it weren’t for his black skin, Marianne could almost imagine him to be human. Did he not bleed like one? Did he not fight like one? Did he not flee like one?

 

She looked up to see that the demon cavalry had broken through Eitel’s encirclement in their desperation, and while some were trying to make it back to their leader, most were already fleeing in all directions. 

 

The demon on the ground gurgled, choking on his own blood.

 

“Just kill him,” she said.

 

Marianne took a final glance of the battlefield as she heard a sickening squelch below her. The demon army was routing on all fronts now, the panic having spread through their lines like a plague. It was a curious sight - a rolling wave of bodies trampling everything in their path as they ran in the opposite direction.

 

She still couldn’t make out their own left flank through the settling red haze, but she would be surprised if there were enough surviving knights left to form a single corps. The centre was utterly decimated, visibly too thin - and too tired - to pursue the fleeing demons. To her right, Eitel’s and al-Menfir’s banners were still flapping in the wind, thankfully - but to her dread she could not find Karl’s own banners, nor as-Saffah’s. They had willingly charged to their own deaths for the slightest chance of victory, and had been overwhelmed by the enemy from the onset. 

 

Marianne could only pray they were still alive. 

 

A carpet of bodies spanned the entire field, so thick that she could barely make out the earth underneath, red with blood and churned into a slick crimson mud. Marianne breathed in, uncaring of the sand grating down her throat.

 

Bodies from both sides laid face down in the dirt, and those facing up stared blankly into the rose-coloured sky with empty eyes. Tiredly, she noted that there were almost twice as many human corpses as there were demons.

 

Marianne wasn’t looking at a victory, but instead a poorly concealed disaster.