Crushed Ivy

Alric Varn

A cold air brushed passed Alric's cheek as he trudged along the narrow dirt road leading to the camps set up near Branwick. The month of Nyxathis was approaching, meaning it would soon get colder and the days would get shorter. As he walked, he could see the sun climbing up as the rays flashed in his eyes. Alric's eyes scanned passed the village as he continued to walk. He could see the simple homes, the fields long harvested, and the soil soon about to become dark and frozen. But this quiet place was now bracing for war as he could also see tense villagers running around. The villagers of Branwick were mainly halflings, standing no taller than a human child. Most of their faces were round, and their hair gold. They were quiet-footed, and walking next to them made Alric's own footfalls feel heavy and clumsy in comparison. Their build wasn't made for brute force, but despite that, they had a muscled body and brown skin similar to a farmer who has worked day and night in the field. These were men shaped by honest labor.

Sparse trees, some stripped bare of their leaves, formed a disordered pattern. For a second, the whole landscape was quiet apart from the crunch of booted feet on the earth. The camp on the side of the village was bustling with even more tense faces of soldiers, with a range of tents, crates, and weaponry all laid down in what almost formed a semi-organized labyrinth. Smoke drifted lazily from a dozen or few cooking fires, carrying the scent of charred meat.

Alric entered one of the tents, the flap moving gently at his entry. He lifted his chest plate and secured the side or underarm straps that connect the front and back plates, tightening them until it felt right. He moved his arms around, trying to make sure they were as comfortable as possible before he picked up his greaves. The armor was heavily layered, built for both the battlefield and the soon-to-come harsh winter. The front of a chest plate had a golden stag, the symbol of Lucia's army. It was made of muted grey steel, embroidered with golden lines across the metal and padded with black leather.

Beside him, Kael kept pace, his voice light despite the tension. “They say Zadale’s plans to attack here next. Guess we’ll see action soon?” It was a light-hearted joke to ease the tension. Alric smiled back. "Just don't die in all the action," one of the soldiers in the back of the tent chimed in, before picking up his helmet and walking out. Alric picked up his sheathed scimitar and slid it inside a frog, fastening it on his right hip. It was one of the few weapons commonly used by Lucia's soldiers, along with maces, longsword and spears.

He then moved outside, followed by Kael. There was a huge number of soldier standing outside, all clad in their armour, ready to fight. Another soldier joined the group, his armour a little different. He wore a half-cape over one shoulder, fastened in a bronze brooch of Lucia's golden stag with a crown on top of its head. The symbol of the commanding officers of a station. He moved on top of a crate so that everyone could see him. His figure was larger than that of any human, and Alric could glimpse patches of grey skin beneath the armor - subtle signs that this officer might be a Goliath, a distant kin to the giants.

"As you all know, our intelligence tells us that this village is next in Zadale’s plans of war. So, my soldiers, we shall protect it and its people with our lives. But none of us will die here. We will return home to our children, our wives, and all those we hold dear. I have been told that our men were victorious on our attack on Brindlewood, and we will be victorious here as well." The commander then raised his sword and gave a cry, and the soldiers soon followed. News of their victory at Brindlewood had greatly lifted their morale. Alric could even see some of the men around him smiling, as if they already believed victory was near, and perhaps thinking the god of war had chosen to bless them.

"Take the women and children to the shelter and let the men of this village who wish to fight be armed, and those who do not, sent back with the women and children to protect them. Then go to your assigned posts." With that order, the soldier dispersed like flies swatted away from a feast.

Alric and Kael were posted together near the southwest of the village. Kael was Alric's childhood friend, as they both had grown up together at the village next to the eastern riverside of Lucia, where they would occasionally play pretend and hide and seek. He was a half-elf, who had chestnut brown hair of medium length that were tucked behind his ear and could barely be seen from the holes in his helmet. His build was lean but athletic, like a runner’s, and his bright hazel eyes sometimes shimmered with flecks of gold. Alric always thought Kael's eyes were more expressive of his emotions than he ever was with his words. A composite bow was slung across his back, and a shortsword hung sheathed at his waist. He had always been the better archer between them, though he’d never actually beaten Alric when they sparred.

Beyond their post, they could see a vast kuppe, its slope with purple ground ivy growing on it. Trees, some still holding on to their leaves, towered on top of the hill. Perched high on a branch was a large, tangled nest of twigs and white branches. Atop it was a raven, larger than most, her black feathers glossy with a strange, regal sheen. She stood watchful and still, wings slightly outstretched to shield what lay beneath her from the wind. Two, maybe more, eggs like little bone-white stones, rested beneath her. The mother shifted gently, the motion careful and practiced, turning each egg with her beak to ensure their warmth was even.

And it was a shame. War would soon trample through these hills. Beauty like this, simple and unguarded, would not survive the clash of steel and fire. The poor mother might lose her young to a battle she could never understand.

As if hearing Alric's thoughts, one of the eggs rolled free from the nest. It tumbled once, then again, and fell.

The raven cried out, wings flaring, but it was too late.

"They'll be here soon," Kael's voice was a low whisper. "Are you scared?"

"A little."

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"We'll win, just like our men won in Brindlewood."

"I hope so." Alric gave him a faint smile. He watched as Kael brought his hands together and closed his eyes. He was praying, something Alric had seen him do before many tasks. It was oddly reassuring, the thought that perhaps the gods might hear his friend’s words and bless Lucia in this battle.

Alric heard it before he could see it, the distant rhythmic thrum, like the heart of the earth was beating. As if the ground seemed to murmur of the enemy's approach. Soon, the glint of steel appeared along the distant treeline.

The Zadale army had arrived.

Dark banner fluttered gracefully in the wind, the symbol of Zadale's military force - the red falcon - etched onto the cloth. Columns of soldiers emerged, and both armies were almost equal in size. Alric could barely make out the armour from this far, but he had seen it before. The black Zadalyn armour was sharp and asymmetrical with maroon lines along its edges. The red falcon could be seen on the right shoulder piece of every soldier. Their formation stretched across the horizon, their faces unreadable behind the mask, advancing without haste but without pause. Some of them were on horseback while others marched behind. As they reached the topmost point of the hill, they paused only long enough to let their presence be felt. It was like wolves towering on top of its prey, daring it to breathe wrong. If Alric could describe it later, he'd compare it to an "approaching storm". They looked intimidating, undeniably so, but the soldiers of Lucia had faced them before. And today, they would face them again.

Alric lowered his face guard as he heard the cry of his commander to charge forward. Both sides of the army stormed towards one another, the sound of feet pushing on the earth and the shouts of soldiers echoing in the battlefield.

The Lucian commander gave an order as arrows flew across the battlefield and rained over the Zadalyn force. Some found their marks with dull thuds; others bounced harmlessly off raised shields or shattered on armor. The gesture was met with an identical one as arrows hissed and flew from the opposing side. Alric manoeuvred through the men around him, rushing forward, Kael just behind him.

As the two sides got closer, blades were drawn and shields were raised. Alric too unsheathed his scimitar, its curved metal blade shining in the sunlight. Farmers of Branwick marched behind the Lucian force using whatever they had to fight back, be it house knives, makeshift weapons, or some who were lucky enough to get leftover army weaponry. The first impact was deafening as steel crashed against steel.

For a moment, it was all chaos as men were pressed shoulder to shoulder, and blades clashed against shields. Alric fought to maintain his position, feet firmly planted on the ground. His sword searched for an opening in the enemy’s defense, steel ringing as it met the blade of the soldier before him. With a sudden burst of movement, Alric drove his foot forward, kicking at the enemy’s leg to knock him off balance. While keeping the pressure on with his sword, he swept the man's feet from beneath him. The soldier fell hard, and Alric didn't hesitate. With a quick motion, blood spilled on the grass as he drove his blade into the enemy's neck. Then came a sharp hiss behind him, followed by the metallic clang. He looked over to see a Zadale soldier with multiple arrows in his back falling to the ground. He was being careless, exposing his blind spot; luck had been on his side with those arrows.

He continued forward with his fellow soldiers around him as more men from each side fell. The blood was soaking into the ground and painting a tapestry on the grass that would forever mark this day. The purple flowers that once blanketed the field were now being crushed beneath the boots of every soldier. Soon, Alric saw the dark silhouettes of men on horseback. Each beat of their hooves struck the ground like a hammer on a coffin nail. The riders hunchforward spears and longswords in their hand as they rushed forward, their face unreadable. Alric dashed to his side as he saw a horse rush towards him. In the split second he glanced behind, he saw the rider’s spear pierce another Lucian soldier, who let out a painful scream before crumpling. The man on horseback yanked the spear free as the soldier’s body went limp and collapsed to the ground. A jolt of adrenaline surged through Alric. That could have been him. A sort of fight-or-flight response had activated inside him, and he knew he had to fight.

He swung his sword at the rider, but his blade cut the horse instead. The animal whined, jumping up in pain, and the rider lost his balance. The soldier tumbled from the saddle, crashing to the ground before another slash from Alric met his death.

The battle raged forward, and bodies fell on every side. Alric had lost sight of Kael by now; he might be dead or behind the lines, firing arrows. Yet he could not think of that now; he had to continue forward. He tried to ground himself in hope, imagining the meal he could share with Kael and the other soldiers when all of this was over. They would laugh together, and they would be alive together.

Yet as Alric moved forward, something changed.

For a fleeting moment, it felt as if the entire battlefield had paused, just long enough to witness something greater. He noticed in front of him one of the cavalry riders charged forward with immense speed. A crimson cape billowed behind, and in his hands he wielded a massive halberd that caught the light like fire on steel. The rider had a weirdly shaped helmet, different from all the other Zadale soldiers, who wore standard-issue helmets. Two circular, horn-like protrusions curled outward from the top, giving the figure an almost otherworldly silhouette. Perhaps it was ceremonial, Alric thought. Not only that, but his armour seemed lighter than most.

His horse was thicker and larger than the others, and from its saddle rose a banner. As he saw the rider charge directly towards the Lucian forces, Alric had only one thought: Did this man not fear death?. He would be surrounded and cut off, yet he rode as though he welcomed it. But then came a swift, practiced motion. The halberd swung in a wide arc, and a spray of blood painted the air as the head of the Lucian commander rolled on the floor.

It was then that the rider stabbed his Halberd into the ground and took off his helmet. It was what Alric saw next that sent a chill down his spine. The rider’s skin was a light shade of purple and was not hidden beneath a horned helmet as Alric had first thought. No, those horns were his own, and the helmet merely shaped around them. He was no ordinary man.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Alric noticed a Lucian soldier charging toward the rider from behind. Before the blade could even fall, there was a blur of motion as something purple lashed out with deadly speed. A tail, thick and sinewed, ending in an arrow-shaped tip, wrapped around the soldier’s neck. With terrifying strength, it squeezed. The Lucian soldier let out a weak cough as he clawed at the tail on his neck, trying his best to gasp for breath before going limp, his weapon dropping uselessly to the ground.

The rider spoke, but Alric couldn’t hear it. Fear had drowned out everything else. He heard the Lucian soldiers around him shout and rush forward.

There was a roar from the enemy soldiers as they mimicked the charge and stormed forward with renewed fury, their momentum increasing. A severed head lay on the ground, now getting trampled and crushed beneath the pounding hooves of their horses. During that moment, only one thought went through Alric's head.

The gods had not answered their prayers. No, instead, they had sent the devil himself to deliver divine judgement.