Adrian sat on a rock near the water's edge. To his side, positioned on solid ground, stood a force of 300 soldiers. Not far off, concealed by the treeline, was the mounted unit led by Sir Clive and Sir Cordell.
Adrian's gaze drifted forward where the enemy had constructed makeshift docks. They had clearly ensured the docks wouldn't be an easy to get, the area was heavily guarded, and Adrian was willing to bet there were traps hidden beneath the surface.
Around them was spiked fences, likely designed to stop a cavalry charge, though the fences were riddled with gaps. And he wondered if that was on purpose.
His attention shifted to the enemy's main defensive structure, a palisade wall. He had to admit the enemy was resourceful.
In a short time, aside from the palisade walls, they had bolstered another layer of defenses, spiked timbers planted firmly in the ground and angled outward.
At intervals, he spotted thick wooden planks where the enemy soldiers could take cover from incoming fire. Breaking a defensive line like this would be a nightmare.
Among the defenders outside the walls, Adrian noticed men dressed in animal hides and furs, wielding weapons made of bone or simple wooden spears.
Tribefolk.
Lord Bronsone had spoken of them, primitive dwellers of the deep mountains and forests who had never formed a proper society.
Rumor had it they were largely untouched by the Dark Era due to their remoteness.
One might expect such a people to flourish in the absence of such event, yet they remained as they had always been.
There were hundreds of them stationed outside the palisades, and Adrian suspected they were being used as a disposable first line of defense.
He wondered what the chief of Laluga said to make them do that.
The battle began with a deafening horn blast from the allied lines, followed by a rain of arrows arching toward the enemy.
It felt strange to be a spectator rather than a participant in the initial chaos, especially after his efforts over the last few days had earned him the respect of the veteran knights.
The title that had been going around, Butcher of Laluga, doesn't seem to die down at all.
Adrian clicked his tongue at the thought, wondering when will the title be dropped. The thought of his name being attached to butchering of life wasn't very appealing at all.
He turned his eyes back to the sea, knowing the land forces wouldn't commit to a full push until the fleet was in position. He watched as the ships closed the distance.
When the first ships rammed into one another, men were hurled from the decks into the churning water.
Since most of the vessels shared a similar structure, the naval battle quickly devolved into a series of bloody melees as soldiers leaped between decks having no need to for anchors and boards.
Arrows continued to rain down on both sides, though it was clear they had a deeper supply than the enemy, one of the many benefits of having a kingdom behind you.
Even with matched numbers, the weight of a Kingdom's support was beginning to show.
Then, a shift occurred. On the allied flagship, Adrian saw the crew preparing a projectile. Moments later, an object was hurled through the air toward an enemy vessel. It was a blur of movement followed by a flash of crimson. As it struck the deck, a violent explosion of red fire erupted.
It was the Ember.
The red fire spread across the ship with terrifying speed. Given the limited deck space and the sheer ferocity of the flames, the vessel was consumed almost instantly. Those at the edge chose the sea over the fire, leaping into the water to save themselves.
Adrian's brows rose in grim fascination. Seeing the secret weapon in action, he had to admit that at sea, where there was basically nowhere to run, Ember was a death sentence.
He watched as two enemy ships tried to maneuver out of range of the allied flagship. However, whoever was in charge of hurling the Ember out was remarkably skilled, another projectile was hurled toward an enemy vessel. Even though it only grazed the hull, the fire took hold immediately, devouring everything in its path.
Just like that, two enemy ships were crippled and sinking. Salt water seemed not enough to completely stop the red fire at a short time.
Adrian watched in disbelief, remembering the desperate effort it had taken him just to fend off a single ship in the past.
Three allied vessels, including the flagship carrying the Ember, surged forward to bypass the remaining four enemy ships. The enemy tried to intercept, but the rest of the allied fleet moved to block them.
Seeing the opening, Adrian stepped down from the stone and moved to the front of his line.
Dexton, clad in his finest armor yet, raised his visor and spoke…
"Nasty weapon, that red fire..." He clicked his tongue and looked at his lord. "Soon?"
Adrian took his helm from a soldier and put it on. "Soon."
The plan was clear…
The cavalry would strike first to shatter the enemy's formation. Adrian's infantry would then follow close behind to capitalize on the chaos.
As the three allied ships neared the shore, Adrian signaled his horn-blower. The man nodded and let out a low, resonating blast.
Across the field, the main army led by Sir Wymond began its advance. Simultaneously, Adrian's 300-strong force moved out.
They were halfway to their objective, the enemy already alerted by the approaching ships, when the thundering of hoofbeats filled the air.
A mounted force of more than forty riders swept past Adrian's force, forming into wedges to punch through the gaps in the enemy's outer defenses.
And then plowed through them.
By the time Adrian and his infantry reached the fray, the ground was already littered with the fallen.
He saw one horse that had unfortunately tripped and impaled itself on a defensive spike, it was still alive, struggling piteously, while its rider fought for his life nearby.
The enemy had seen the riders coming and most had managed to dive out of the way, but the broken lines and the cries of the wounded proved the charge had done its work. Ahead, the cavalry began to wheel around, their initial shock over. Now, it was time for the infantry to finish it.
Adrian leveled his spear and charged with a war cry, his men roaring right behind him.
--
"Stand back! Get back!" the cries rang out over the clashing steel and flesh.
Adrian ducked as an axe swung toward his face. He surged forward, sweeping his enemy's legs out from under him.
The man crashed to the dirt, and Adrian stabbed down with his sword, but it only managed to hit the sides as blood spurted. The enemy, fueled by desperation, rolled to the side and hurled his axe.
Adrian jerked his head to the side. The weapon clipped his helm with a metallic clang.
Fortunately, the haft struck instead of the blade, the impact dented the steel and made Adrian's groaned in pain for a moment, but he kept his footing. He stepped heavily onto the man's hand to pin him down, then silenced him with a final, precise thrust to the neck.
Only then did the shouts to retreat truly register. His instincts took over, and he threw himself backward just as the allied cavalry galloped past. Their work at the docks was done, they were now wheeling around to support Sir Wymond's main force on the open field.
Adrian took a ragged breath and scanned his surroundings. The battle still raged one, violence filled the air, some men fought at a distance with spears, while others were locked in neck-and-neck struggle on the ground.
Despite the carnage, his side was slowly gaining the upper hand.
He glanced toward the ocean. The allied ships were closing in and would dock within minutes.
He couldn't see the situation on the main battlefield yet, but as he moved to rejoin the fight, he spotted Dexton fending off two enemies at once.
Adrian stepped in, bashing one attacker's head with his shield. Dexton followed through instantly, crushing the man's face with a mace.
As the body fell, Adrian looked to the side, to the enemy camp and saw thick smoke billowing from the enemy camp.
Sir Wymond had unleashed the Ember. The battle had reached its zenith.
--
Ulric was a storm incarnate, a whirlwind of destructive intent as he watched the raging red flames swallow the palisade walls his men and slaves had labored to erect.
His soldiers surged from the main gate in a desperate counter-offensive, hoping to buy the rest of the camp time to douse the blaze.
But Ulric watched, his eyes narrowing, as a man hurled a bucket of water onto the fire. It did nothing.
The flames didn't even hiss, they simply continued to feast. The only good thing was that the fire had stopped spreading after some time, though it continued to devour the side of the wooden walls with unnatural hunger.
But the fire wasn't the only thing stoking his fury. His left hand was clamped over a jagged, bleeding wound on his neck. His right hand gripped the source of his injury, the limp body of the slave woman who had dared to strike him.
Anger roiled within him, sharpened by the fact that the woman had possessed enough sense to kill herself before he could get his hands on her.
A man approached him, his voice tinged with a local presumption that made Ulric's grip tighten on his blade. "What should we do now?"
Ulric nearly hacked the man down just to vent his frustration, but he managed to rein in his temper, barely.
"Now." Ulric growled, his voice a low rasp. "We show these Kingdom fuckers exactly how dangerous we are."
He stepped toward the Ember fire and, with a grunt of exertion, threw the slave's lifeless body into the red heat.