Deathless

Deathless Chapter Twenty-Six: Commander

Chapter Twenty-Six: Commander

The dimly-lit night sky of the Pass rang with the clash of steel. Skirmishes erupted across the plains, mounted Battalion soldiers clashing their longswords against the axes and warhammers of the rebels, as well as their hulking, two-handed greatswords.

Commander Rowlec, of the Eagles, mounted on a mighty destrier he had named Stormcharger, for its sleek black coat of fur, led a small company of mounted warriors, all wielding longswords best suited for mounted combat; not as long as a greatsword, so that they could be wielded one-handed, but longer than the standard-issue longswords that were given to the regular Battalion soldier, so as to give the Eagle that bore the blade better reach.

Rowlec looked about him, as he drove his sword into the helm of a rebel as he passed alongside him. The rebels were failing. Their shield-wall had been broken, and their rows of pikes and halberds were being pushed back, as well as the rest of their vanguard, which had charged forward at the sight of their Imperial banners instead of remaining behind their shields and awaiting the enemy charge.

The vanguard were being butchered mercilessly by the mounted rangers, trained for swift, mounted combat, wherein the element of surprise was on their side. During the company’s initial charge, they had managed to bring down most, if not all, of the rebel host’s pikemen, and by the time the rebel shield wall had gone up, their vanguard had been shattered.

Rowlec grinned as the last of the rebel vanguard was butchered, and he raised his blade to signal his comrades. 

“Archers!” he yelled, pointing his blade at the failing tower shields that stood before them, the final vestiges of the rebel host standing behind it, their spears bristling weakly in the moonlight.

His rangers drew out their crossbows from behind them, and loaded a volley.

“Give them a volley!” Rowlec barked, turning his destrier towards the ranks of Eagles, all loading quarrels into their crossbows. Rowlec brought out his own crossbow, slung on his back, and loaded a quarrel from the quiver that hung from his side. 

“Find your targets! Let none of those wretches remain standing!” Rowlec shouted, aiming his crossbow. He examined the shield wall, a makeshift barrier made of bristling tower shields, though some shields were not even wrought of steel, but of wood and straps of leather.

The rebels were untrained, and disorganised. Their shield wall had countless breaches and gaps along it. Rowlec’s specially trained archers would bring it down instantly. “Ready to fire at my signal!”

“Steady….” Rowlec examined the wall, and waited for the exact right moment when the breaches were the most pronounced. “Steady…. FIRE!”

And then the night rang with the quarrels loosed, their brown streaks whizzing through the black as they sped towards the pitiful shield wall of the rebels.

The night was soon rife with the sounds of quarrels entering flesh, the sickening thud as they penetrated the flesh, and then the soft thuds as the men thumped onto the ground, their armour and weapons clattering against the ground, their shields tumbling like trees in a hurricane. And then the shield wall fell.

Rowlec drew out his sword, and bade his comrades do the same. “Let ‘em have it, boys! Show these wretches what Imperial steel is made of!”

With a whopping cry, the Eagles charged into the rebel ranks, who tried desperately to fortify themselves agains the tide of cavalry that surged into their ranks. The rebels swung at the oncoming cavaliers, trying to topple their mounts, but it was all for naught. The rangers cut them down with ease, the disorganised ranks of the rebels crumbling before their charge.