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| − | [ST] Soon after the meeting disperses, Otter emerges from the meeting house and hears from a courier that the Elk Riders are returning from their scouting afield, gathering at the storage silos at the far end of the village. Siahan itself seems to bustle with energy - though some of its residents have evacuated, many still remain, darting here and there through the streets with bundles of
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| − | [ST] food, arrows, and firewood. Otter seems to have picked up a straggler. The short Frost Bear woman leans against the front of the meeting house, watching her and chewing thoughtfully.
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| − | [Otter] "We'll be working together," Otter observes to her in a very neutral way. No way she could get in trouble with that.
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| − | [ST] A nod should not be so condescending, but somehow, it is. Savage Bear-Daughter then gives one of her silent shrugs.
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| − | [Otter] Otter stiffens. She would be the bigger person, she vows to herself. This mute little cubling would not make her lose her temper. "I trust that as an-" slight hesitation- "honorable warrior for the Once Dead, you will obey my orders promptly on and off the field." Her eyes and blue and icy.
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| − | [ST] A grunt of grudging assent, a raised eyebrow, a hand resting easily on the knife at her belt. The other woman's eyes are dark and inscrutable.
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| − | [Otter] Otter's eyes don't move from hers. "Any tension between us will be picked up by the troops, so lets stow it for the moment and be comrades, eh?" She smiles dazzingly, in a friendly way that she can take on and off like a cloak. Virtuously, Otter decides not to bring up the humiliating defeat of the Frostlings' mothers at Blue Snow Valley ten years ago.
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| − | [ST] The woman nods again, stepping away from the house. She claps a hand on Otter's shoulder in a sign of camraderie, smiling sweetly. Her teeth are remarkably straight and white. Otter's shoulder stings from the contact.
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| − | [Otter] Otter's smile is all teeth. She moves forward through the heavy snow, congratulating herself on her tact.
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| − | [ST] The husbands, wives, and children of the returning riders have gathered around the trio of squat granaries at the far end of the village, welcoming home the scout riders that have arrived, embracing rider and beast alike in their joy, singing, laughing, and clapping snow from shoulders and haunches.
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| − | [Otter] She sees the swarm of Elk up ahead, and raises a hand to greet a red-cheeked woman standing alone checking her elk's stirrups. The woman's hair is still wild from the long run back. "Ho and well met!" she calls cheerily. "I'm Otter, and this hear is Bear-Daughter. We're Ravens sent from Icehome. Who's in charge here?"
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| − | [ST] Not every one is so happy; a heated argument seems to be raging between a tall, bald, muscle-corded man and a girl of about fourteen or fifteen with a pair of braids that fall down her back. At Otter and Bear-Daugther's approach, some of the riders turn, regarding them warily.
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| − | [ST] "Ravens..." a woman with a bright silver ring in her nose says quietly. "An ill omen before battle. We will have enough after."
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| − | [Otter] "Oh, I've always thought of myself as a good omen," Otter grins. "Victory always is, eh? If anything's a harbinger of trouble, it's the bloody army on your doorstep- and they got here first." She jerks her chin upward in a tribal greeting. "I'm Spritely Otter, of Fox-and-Bear."
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| − | [ST] A few laughs ring out. The Fox-and-Bear are not particular friends of the Elk, but nor are they enemies. The woman with the ring in her nose tosses her head. "Well met. I am Annah Strong-Shout, of the Elk Tribe. Our leader is Smiling Gunnar. He is currently busy arguing with his brother's daughter." She points to where the bald man and the girl argue and shout, oblivious to the arrival of the others.
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| − | [Otter] Otter's smile crinkles around the corners of her eyes. "Oh, I know a thing or two about teenage girls," she says, just as if she weren't one herself. "We'll talk later," she nods to Annah. The woman seemed capable.
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| − | [ST] The woman gives a short laugh. "If you wish to inject yourself into that argument, I am not so sure that we will." At least she seems to only be gently teasing. Savage Bear-Daughter gives a soft grunt that might indicate amusement.
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| − | [ST] "You are too young, brother-daughter!" The man called Gunnar says again. "I will not hear of it. I should not have brought you. Your place is elsewhere."
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| − | [ST] The girl balls her hands into fists, shouting back. "I want to hurt them! I want to KILL them! I deserve to kill them! They killed Rondvar!"
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| − | [Otter] Otter grins. "We'll see." Seeing the old man jaw the girl out, she feels almost nostalgic. She makes her way through the crowd of Elk and elk- none of whom are as deaf to the quarrel as they should be. It is not quite polite; did the girl not see how she shamed her mothers with such a public tantrum?
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| − | [Otter] People unconsciously give way to her. Otter's chin tilts up in satisfaction.
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| − | [ST] "Who is this?" Gunnar asks, holding up a hand to silence Jakka as Otter approaches. "You bear the trappings of the Corpse Men. I have seen your kind before."
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| − | [ST] The girl turns to look at the newcomers, reddening as if realizing her argument was on display for everyone to see. "Oh... the... the Corpse Men. I saw you, too, on that day. It's... it's a sign, isn't it? It must be!"
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| − | [Otter] "I am Once Dead," Otter says, as though it were a grand title. Treat whatever position you hold with respect, her aunt had always said, and others will do likewise. "Spritely Otter, of Fox-and-Bear." She grew tired of introducing herself. "I hope my comrades behaved themselves."
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| − | [ST] "They fought by our side," the girl says. "But my brother died. There was a dream...." As she trails off, Gunnar resumes.
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| − | [ST] "I've met a few of you. We spoke with the one called the Painted Knight near a month ago, at the Tanstaad Emerald. He told us of the coming of the Winter Wolf."
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| − | [Otter] "A moment," Otter says, holding up a hand.
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| − | [Otter] "What dream? The Haslanti say they have great power, and this is your country," Otter says in tones of respect.
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| − | [ST] The girl is silent for a moment, until Gunnar sighs. "Tell her, girl, if you insist on being a part of this."
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| − | [ST] "It was nothing," the girl says quietly. "Only a dream of my brother's death. It came true. That was the last time I met one of the Ravens. There were many of them. A girl with a burned face, and the Painted Knight, and a short, spotted man. And Avir. Are they here?"
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| − | [Otter] "The Painted Knight is. I have fought with him before; he is a great warrior. He commands the overall shape of the battle, and the Bears." She turns to look at Gunnar. "I will assist you in leading the Elk Riders. Savage Bear-Daughter will also fight with us."
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| − | [ST] The man grunts, but he's clearly had dealings with the Dead before, and knows the way of it. "This is the wish of the Oligarchs? According to the covenant that binds us?"
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| − | [Otter] "It is." He was too much her elder for her to simply take the command, but it was good that he understood. Her smile twists."Take heart. I am a stranger to you, but I have never known we Ravens to fail. Is there a better place to further this discussion?"
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| − | [ST] "You may come to my tent. Both of you." He nods in greeting to Bear-Daughter as well. "Perhaps my brother's daughter can better remember her place there. Jakka, come with us."
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| − | [ST] The girl's face contorts with barely-repressed anger, but she nods, tight-lipped, as her uncle swings down from the saddle and gives his riding elk a pat. "Follow me."
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| − | [Otter] Otter felt for the girl, but she keeps it from her face as follows the old man.
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| − | [ST] Gunnar leads them across the square to a cluster of tents. His is the largest, and he only makes the barest grunt as he says "I welcome you into my home." Time was of the essence; niceties might take too long.
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| − | [ST] "Many of my warriors have sheltered in the empty homes within the Emerald," he says, holding open the skin flap for them. "But I think it better not to get used to such luxury. Though it is cold in here. I think someone has been sharpening her knife instead of tending the firepit."
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| − | [ST] Reproached, Jakka looks at the ground, gloved fingers twining together.
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| − | [Otter] "That is wise," Otter says with perfect as sincerity as she sits down. She may live in a warm house in town herself- she was forced by circumstances to live close to theTomb- but of course her kin lived outside decadent Icehome itself.
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| − | [ST] Gunnar raises an eyebrow at her, and she hastens over to the pile of firewood in the corner, feeding bits into the guttering flame in the tent's firepit. After a moment, Savage Bear-Daughter begins to help her, casting a silent and searching glance Otter's way.
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| − | [ST] "I begin to think little about this plan is wise. We should burn these Emeralds. I say that as a man who understands how precious they are. But we lived before we found them. The Hundred Tribes can continue to live. I would not lose the blood of the tribe to save the dirt of the Greenfielders."
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| − | [ST] Gunnar seats himself crosslegged on the ground, grunting. "Maybe I am too blunt. But you do not look like a Greenfielder to me, for all that you bear their corpse-mark. Nor the painted knight."
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| − | [Otter] "YI am not a Greenfielder," Otter says calmly. "I grew up high in the snow mountains, with the rest of my tribe. These Greenfields are new and strange to me. But I think the Haslanti are right to defend them."
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| − | [ST] "Right or wrong, we promised our loyalty and our brotherhood long ago. The Elk will not abandon that now, and the elders have spoken to the rest of us. We will fight. I only hope that it will be worth it. It will not be the first time I have fought the wolf."
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| − | [ST] There is a loud snap as Jakka breaks a dried branch in half before feeding it into the fire.
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| − | [Otter] She accepts a mug of heated water from Jakka and continues. "I have heard stories of her. Miruna fought the Wolf herself, and wounded her as I think she had not been wounded in many a year, I think." Otter shrugs. "We do not fight to defend dirt. These greenfields are the shield of Icehome; if the Wolf takes them from us, they will be a sword pointed toward the heart of the League."
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| − | [ST] "There are many among the tribes who would not mourn the passing of Icehome," Gunnar laughs. "But I am not one of them. Unlike many, I know what it would mean for the tribes, too. We will do what we can. My riders have gone north and south, east and west. They have found only the fringes of the Wolf's army. Wolfmen, screening the rest of her forces."
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| − | [Otter] "In unity, there is strength," Otter nods. It is a strange argument to hear from her: the Fox-and-Bear had clawed their way to power by holding themselves aloof from the Haslanti and the Haslanti tribes, sometimes allying and sometimes not- and always charging high tolls for the use of their passes.
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| − | [Otter] "Where do you find them? In what numbers?"
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| − | [ST] "Coming from the south. We could not get close, but perhaps the airboat can. We know there are many hundred. Wolfmen, barbarians. And also the Greenfielders from the South. The Shanari-Shanarinarans." The word emerges strangely mangled from his mouth. "Puling rabble, surely."
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| − | [Otter] "Likely; but I will treat them lightly until I have kicked their corpses off my spear." She grins. " Are headed in this direction? Does it seem they split off from the main force?"
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| − | [ST] "We cannot tell. Would that our elks could fly."
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| − | [ST] "The airboat should return soon, if it does not befall some misfortune. It will tell you more. These last few nights, I have not dreamed. I wish I could see what will happen, for good or ill."
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| − | [ST] "We will win," Jakka says quietly. "We will kill them all."
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| − | [Otter] There were dreams, and then there were dreams. She had such dreams of Elk; this girl's were more bloody. "On this matter of Jakka fighting..." She looks apologetically at Gunnar. "Forgive my intrusion into a family trouble, but it is better that it is resolved now."
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| − | [Otter] It did no tribe good to see that their leader could not control a child of its household; and were Jakka counted an adult, there would have been no question that she would fight.
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| − | [ST] The girl stops, looking up, her features clouded with a mixture of fear and hope.
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| − | [ST] "Yes?" Gunnar asks, the word carefully neutral. The others still. Only Savage Bear-Daughter continues to feed wood into the fire, as if she does not notice the silence.
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| − | [Otter] Otter turns to the girl. "Jakka. I understand your desire to fight. Of course you wish revenge for your brother." She pauses, measuring the speed of the falling axe. "But you must consider the good of the warriors who go into battle and the good of your tribe. You must place these things above your own desire to fight." Otter's words are calm, measured, and delicately placed as knives. This is how her aunt did it; Otter only hoped she did as well.
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| − | [Otter] "This will be a close battle. We cannot spare the attention of warriors who will try to protect you."
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| − | [ST] "But I want to fight! I want to help! Please. I know I am strong enough. Please."
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| − | [ST] Gunnar wrinkles his mouth at the girl's protests.
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| − | [Otter] "We cannot spare the morale hit if you should fall. And most of all we cannot reward such flagrant rebellion against duty among the Elk warriors."
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| − | [Otter] Otter's reproof is gentle, but cold. "You can help best by doing your duty, girl. You will be a warrior, but you are not yet. You will weaken us if we take you to battle."
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| − | [Otter] "You are a daughter of the Elk, and you have duties as well as privileges." Otter's gaze pins her. "Do you understand me?"
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| − | [ST] "I thought..." The girl lowers her head, tears clinging to her lashes. "I thought you would understand. You are but a few years older than me. You..." She nods, suddenly, tightly. "I understand."
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| − | [Otter] "I do understand. But as I had to wait until it was my time- as every warrior must wait- so must you." She grasps the girl's hand. "You will do honor to your tribe in battle. But not this battle."
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| − | [Otter] It was as much a gentling as she thought allowable. Otter nods to Gunnar. "We should meet with Miruna."
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| − | [ST] The girl nods. "Very well." Gunnar smmiles in approval. "Very well. Let us hasten. This woman has spoken wise words, Jakka. You will serve in a different way."
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| − | -----
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| − | [ST] "Do you expect many of us to die?" Morta asks. She trails a few steps behind Miruna, looking at the earth, as the pair of them approach the area where the Bears should be mustering. She occasionally kicks as she goes, uprooting loose stones and sending them skipping away.
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| − | [Miruna] "We'll know when the scouts come back," he says, if pessimistically. "Far as we say, we're expecting to pile corpses like a woodpile, set us up for the winter, yeah?" He gives her a significant glance. Soldiers wouldn't take right to someone commanding them who looked at them like they'd make an interesting corpse.
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| − | [ST] "Whoever wins, the dead will be the only ones gaining troops, I suppose." If she notes his glance, she doesn't seem to absorb the meaning. "Better for us if they're wolves. Though we won't notice during the battle, and if we die, it won't trouble us any longer. Unless our ghosts rise." She pauses for a moment, kicking a stone. It caroms off the side of a passing wagon, causing an elk to grunt
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| − | [ST] in alarm. "Maybe I better not talk to them."
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| − | [ST] Ahead on the parade grounds, Sela can be heard shouting at the troops to form ranks and change formations.
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| − | [Miruna] He grunts in reply, striding into the open area, and looking to see how well the Bears moved in formation.
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| − | [ST] Sela runs briskly between the ranks, using the butt of her spear to strike an elbow here, a leg there, as she shouts instructions. Most of it is for show. The Bears seem fairly well trained. Miruna's seen better, but he's seen a hell of a lot worse.
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| − | [Miruna] Miruna nods to himself, making his way towards Sela, timing his pace so that he never had to obviously dodge a block of troops. The important thing was, they seemed to take direction well. He wasn't expecting the kind of battle where they'd have to split and wheel, or any of that. But for them to be a wall to break the enemy on, the bricks had to stay in place.
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| − | [ST] Sela growls, barking out more orders. "Veelin, not so fast, you'll outpace the other squads. SLOW! You're reckless! You're STUPID! SLOW! STEADY!" She slaps an armored man on the back, causing him to stagger. Then, she turns to regard the newcomers.
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| − | [ST] "You'll be here to relieve me, I suppose." She does not sound angry, but the words are too crisp, brittle.
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| − | [ST] Behind Miruna, Morta stares with a dull fascination at a bruise on the side of Sela's neck. The collar of her armor, or the flat of a sword? The collar. Too uniform.
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| − | [Miruna] "I don't need to relieve you if you'll take my orders," he tells her quietly. He preferred not to break her career. She'd trained the troops well.
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| − | [ST] "Of course I will. The welfare of my troops depends on it." She looks over his shoulder at the woman behind him. "What is she staring at? Never mind. Why are you here? Are there new orders? Have you heard something?"
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| − | [Miruna] "Your troops need to know me, and Morta, who will be fighting with us. And, to be clear, will be directing if I fall." Which had better not happen. But there weren't enough of them for him to have kept someone better suited to back him up. "We'll be taking our place with you in the line."
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| − | [ST] "Very well." Sela nods sharply, slapping a fist to her chest in the Haslanti salute. "I hope you lead us to victory."
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| − | [Miruna] He nods, gravely. "That is my hope as well." If the Tomb was right, they'd be able to hold. He didn't ahve so much faith that the enemy wouldn't be able to send a larger force after them, but he'd buy what he could with the defenders he'd been given.
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| − | [ST] A shout of alarm rings out across the parade ground.
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| − | [ST] "ATTENTION!" Sela blurts, and the Bears spring to preparedness with admirable speed. But in the next instant the source of the alarm becomes obvious. The Glorious Wind has returned.
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| − | [ST] The airboat takes a long, looping path over the grounds, descending slowly.
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| − | [Miruna] He turns, quicker than most. One of the things that let one survive in the once dead were reflexes that reacted first. "I'll go to meet it. Keep the troops moving. Have them practice opening a line to let cavalry through."
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| − | [ST] "Understood. I will instruct your woman on the orders as well."
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| − | [ST] "I'm not his woman," Morta says softly. "Well, not in most ways."
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| − | [Miruna] Miruna leaves. Morta'd make the woman see straight, and wouldn't appreciate his interference.
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| − | [ST] The airboat's captain is skilled indeed - the great craft comes skimming in low, shedding anchors and tow-lines, and comes to an almost gentle stop, bobbing a few feet off the ground as crewmen scamper to lower the sails and hammer in restraining pegs.
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| − | [ST] By the time Miruna reaches the craft, the vessel is grounded and secured. The glider pilot that seemed to fancy Otter leans over the railing, waving a scarf. "News to report, sir! We've spotted them!"
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| − | [Miruna] "How far out?" he yells. The troops'd hear soon enough, with all the sailors on the ship knowing. No sense trying to hide it.
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| − | [ST] "Not more than a day's march. They've almost reached the plateau." He wipes the snow from his goggles. "They are marching hard."
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| − | [Miruna] Well, the plateau's slope had never been enough to defend, from the south. "We have some time then." Hours, but it was something. "Ready the ship for battle," he commands, turning.
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| − | [ST] "They have no flying forces with them, monsters or otherwise," the man says. "We were able to observe them well enough, though the snow obscured some of them."
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| − | [Miruna] He pauses, remembering that it wasn't just hordes of wolfmen coming at them. "How many did you see? And what?"
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| − | [Miruna] "Cavalry?"
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| − | [ST] The man pushes up his goggles, reading carefully from a list that has been prepared. "Many. Many hundreds of the Twisted Hills barbarians. Several hundred wolfmen. They are commanded by one of the Bitches. The one they call the Callous Wolf. We could spot her even from the air. She knows sorcery, they say."
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| − | [Miruna] He itched to get moving, but he had to do thigns right. He'd taken control of these soldiers, and he wouldn't waste them.
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| − | [ST] "There is another force, too. Slower, heavier. Unused to the cold. The men from Shanarinara. We believe at least five hundred of them. Archers, infantry."
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| − | [ST] "The force has split in two. The Shanarinarans continue up the Serpent Road. The others are moving separately. We believe they mean to try to outflank our forces and attack through Shaha's Defile."
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| − | [ST] "This is only one offshoot of a much larger army. The other airboats report many thousands of enemy troops advancing towards the center of our line."
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| − | [Miruna] He nods. As they had said it would happen after all. They'd been given enough to chew as it was, though.
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| − | [Miruna] The Shanarinarans were the weaker force, but they had the bowmen. He'd planned to sue his aircover to suppress archers, but he didn't like to part with it against the wolfmen.
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| − | [Miruna] "The forces are split already?" Perhaps he could ambush the Shanarinarans with cavalry and the airforces, and have them return in time for battle with the main force.
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| − | [Miruna] The Elk should be able to move through the forest quietly. If they could take them from teh spur of forest along the road as they were marching . . .
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| − | [Miruna] "Coudl the Snowhawks launch from a cliffedge and return there safely?" he asks the airman.
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| − | [ST] "Of course," the man scoffs, then quickly remembers himself. "Ah. Sir."
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| − | [ST] "We can also launch from the airboat itself."
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| − | [Miruna] "No. If the airship wasn't here, could you launch off the edge of Shaha's defile." He fixes the man with a heavy stare.
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| − | [Miruna] He wanted some cover with the militia if they'd ahve to hold against the main force without cavalry or the airship.
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| − | [ST] "Yes. It would be tight, but we could do it."
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| − | [Miruna] He nods. "Get ready. You Snowhawks, gather what you need for battle. You may ride with the ship, or not. You'll have orders soon." He turns again, and strides off. Maps and consultation never hurt a plan, but he had an idea of his defense already. "Morta! Go get the others."
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| − | [ST] Morta gives a nod, hurrying off so quickly that she leaves the standard she was carrying propped hastily against a building. It sways, topples, and falls in the snow behind her, unheeded.
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| − | | |
| − | ------
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| − | [Miruna] He finds the rockiest, steepest part of the pass and sets his line there, the Bears stretching accross the defile, with Selza's Trout in a tight block behind to fill wherever the Bears weakened.
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| − | [Miruna] He lets them sit in their lines, then, sicne they'd be waiting hours. Hopefully. The Snowhawks lazed on the cliff edges above, except for oen wheeling high enough up that hopefully the coming horde wouldn't be able to tell her from a hawk if they didn't know. That was their warning for the coming force. That and a few more flying high around the edges of the plateau.
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| − | [Miruna] A few townsfolk wandered in among the gliders, with waterskins and some meat. The commandos always got the attention. He'd asked for volunteers to be up there, help them land and maybe roll rocks on the enemy from the clifftop.
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| − | [Miruna] Miruna sits with Sela and Morta in the center of the Bear line, watching as far down the pass as he could see, where the enemy would come. Never mind that he'd know from the airwoman long before they came around the kink.
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| − | [ST] "How do you think your woman will fare against the Greenfielders?" Sela asks, looking at the horizon.
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| − | [Miruna] He grins. "None of them are my women, Sela. 'Specially not that one. She'll kill her share." He just hoped she didn't get his cavalry killed at the same time. They'd be needed again, and she had all those notions of glory playing through her head. Glory was what you told people after the killing stopped.
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| − | | |
| − | -----
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| − | | |
| − | === The Battle of Broken Glass ===
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| − | | |
| − | Haslanti Forces:
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| − | Commander: Spritely Otter
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| − | 100 Elk Riders
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| − | 1 Haslanti Airboat First Class: Glorious Wind
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| − | Enemy Forces:
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| − | Commander: Molphas Ironborn
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| − | 250 Shanarinaran Light Infantry
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| − | 250 Shanarinaran Skirmishers
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| − | 125 Shanarinaran Heavy Infantry
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| − | -----
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| − | [Otter] The elk move swiftly through the forest. The trees are tall, and the branches bristle with needles, shielding them from the air, the riders manuever carefully to avoid treading through the scattered patches of snow that make it through the branches. The woods are gloomy, but safe, and the Elk Riders have all greased their gear with animal fat to avoid creaking. They are little more than swiftly moving shadows.
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] Annah is the first to kill a scout: a pale, cold-looking Greenfielder who chaps his hands for warmth even as his eyes scan the darkness. Annah kicks her stag and it leaps gracefully over a log to land ride in front of him. The elk charges forward, pinning the scout to the tree with its antlers. "Martha..." he whimpers, before Annah kills him.
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] The Shaniaranans have no idea: worse for them, they have enough experience as hunters to know when they are hunted. Tribesmen seem to leap out of the shadows. Otter gives orders, and their corpses are hoisted into the air, the snow hastily shoved around to conceal blood. To the soldiers waiting for them, the scouts would seem to vanish.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] A light snow falls from the sky, heavy clouds scudding in to hide the moon. A wind picks up, rustling icy branches. A strange piping rises from the south as the Glass Forest is given voice by the wind. The piping serves to cover the approach of the Haslanti as they eliminate the Shanarinaran troops efficiently.
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| − | [Otter] Otter stands at the edge of the forest staring out, the warm breath of her elk snorting in her ear behind her."Now we wait."
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| − | [ST] For a while, some fear that the strange piping away south might mask the approach of the Shanarinarans as well. The Haslanti wait. In the distance there is a dull explosion. Flames flicker on the horizon. Miles distant, the battle with the Wolf's main forces is joined.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Eventually, slowly, dragging and weary, they come. The men of Shanarinara march in more or less orderly ranks down the snow, covered road. A screening force of light infantry in fur coats and buff jackets, armed with small, round, metal shields, advances first, forging a path through the snow for the others. Behind them come several ranks of lightly armed skirmishers armed with shortbows and arrow, their eyes alert, wary. Then, the retinue of the general himself, and bringing up the rear, several ranks of heavy infantry swaddled in fur and armor, wielding heavy halberds.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] The sharp eyes of the scouts catch everything.
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| − | [Otter] The wait for them Shanarinans is excruciating. Otter swears the Greenfielders must occasionally be moving backwards, they seem to inch across the horizon so slowly. Her elk riders are lined up in the trees. Otter strokes her elk's neck gently, more to calm herself than to calm it. Her father had told her never to name an animal you mean to bring into battle.
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| − | [Otter] She would devote the heaviest portion of her forces to the heavy infantry, she decides; better to attack them when they hadn't lined up those vicious weapons in her direction. They were tired from the march, as well: they would never be so vulnerable again. The militia in the lead were fodder for airships, and the archers would not be able to attack the Elk when they were interspersed with the infantry.
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] She calls a handful of her messengers and gives them the orders in a quiet, calm voice. The largest portion of her troops would hit the heavy infantry from the side and drive through them, regroup, and charge them from the rear. Otter did not want to leave semblence of a healthy formation together. A smaller portion would charge southeast at the militia: even experience soldiers could panic if they saw their
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| − | | |
| − | [Otter] whole front disintegrate.
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| − | [Otter] The smallest group Otter would form around herself: she attack the first line of heavy infantry, and look for an opportunity to kill the general. As the Shanarianans walk into the shadow of a falling sword, Otter finds herself smiling. Elk would be so jealous to miss this!
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] As the Haslanti pour from the trees, the hoofbeats of the riding elk thunderous even through the layer of snow, the gathered Nabradian forces actually scream in dismay. In the dark, the elk riders look as numerous as the leaves of the trees in Nabradia, proper trees, not these stunted things, and they're everywhere, gods, gods, everywhere- "EVERYWHERE!" Otter hears a man scream, his eyes bulging out to almost comical size.
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| − | [ST] "Hold!" A booming voice calls out. The Nabradian General, seated atop a strange animal like a giant ram, raises his blade into the sky. "Courage, Nabradia! For freedom! Hold!"
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| − | [ST] An instant later, the Glorious Wind's released firepots strike, birthing gouts of flame. Men scream like animals as their flesh sizzles, and the front of the column dissolves into utter chaos. Men scream, throw down their weapons, flee into the night. For the Haslanti, many of the Nabradians are as lambs before the wolf.
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| − | [Otter] The elk moves smoothly under Otter. Her heart pounds like a rabbit's, as she lowers her spear to charge. In seconds they are right before her, and her troops are around her washing over the Nabradian lines. She can see the fear in the heavily-armored man's eyes just as her elk leaps over him and she stabs downward, through the slit in his helmet. She yanks up,and a spray of blood follows. The man falls. She can
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| − | [Otter] hear curses, screams, the pounding elk hooves.
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| − | [Otter] She catches sight of the Nabradian general and raises her spear in salute, then whistles: "Swift Riders!" A small group forms up around her, and she drives them toward the General, but the tide of battle forces them apart. For a few moments, it's as much as Otter can handle to kill the men surrounding her. She whistles, sharply, and at once her Elk Riders break free of the chaos, springing over corpses and
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| − | [Otter] knocking through running militia. She forms up her half; on the other side, Gunnar forms the rest into a line.
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| − | [ST] Damn snow. Damn cold. Damn Haslanti. Damn Jeral, for ever getting them into this war. Damn the Gulls. Damn it all. No, please, please, don't- don't- NO!
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| − | [ST] The stretch of road becomes a slaughterhouse. The Elk Tribe, loosened and furious, run the Nabradians down like dogs. Blood stains the snow, steams in the darkness. Men beg for mercy, pray, run, stoically battle, and die.
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| − | [ST] The General still lives, and calling out, he manages to rally his forces. The Skirmishers form a knot around him, bows facing outward, the heavy infantry and what's left of the militia screening them. They retreat back towards the glass forest, leaving the wounded and the dead with every step.
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| − | [Otter] He should have run, Otter thinks grimly. Her elk picks its way delicately through the dead and the dying. He should never have come here. A woman lies in the snow, gurgling and holding her intestines in her hands. She looks like a farmer. Otter leans down at stabs her spear through the woman's throat: a small mercy. They ought never have come.
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| − | [ST] "Bastards..." a boy hisses in mangled Skytongue, raising a bloody fist as Otter rides past him. "Barbarians..."
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| − | [Otter] Otter ignores him. She speaks shortly to the picket who, with grim determination, has managed to stick beside her. He signals the airship with colored flag, though the orders are obvious enough: the airship glides over the glass forest and begins to drop bombs.Buying time for Gunnar's elk riders to encircle them and attack from the rear.
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| − | [Otter] At last, she lets out a long, piercing cry and the Haslanti echo her, raising their spears and screaming. Elk tossing their heads. The steel caps on their antlers are red with blood.
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| − | [Otter] "CHARGE!"
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| − | [ST] A few firepots go astray. One strikes and rolls across the road, smashing the wounded who lie there, then rolls to a stop, a dud. Another strikes far in the south of the forest, shattering the glass trees with a brittle tinkling that seems to herald the Haslanti charge.
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| − | [ST] It had been a long time since Molphas had seen battle. Some would call him an armchair general, and his eye had always been better suited to the map than the battlefield. He was old, he was tired. It had been twenty years since he'd bloodied his sword last, and that had been in the War of Dominion. He'd fought other Shanarinarans, then. Nothing like these crazed, half-animal Haslanti. He
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| − | [ST] was tired.
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| − | [ST] But he had taken a vow to serve the city-state of Nabradia, and the Democracy itself, and her people. He had taken her people into the heart of the enemy's territory. He had seen them hurt, killed. And he was damned if he was going to let his men die like this, hemmed in and chipped away.
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| − | [ST] Molphas lowers his sword, shouting again. "Men! They're forming up! They're coming for us! Do you want to stand here and wait? OR DO YOU WANT TO SHOW THEM WHAT WE'RE MADE OF? FORWARD!"
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| − | [ST] The Nabradians charge, screaming, and crash into the Haslanti head on. The skirmishers shoot high, firing over the heads of the clashing troops into the Haslanti lines as best they can. The airship must pull away, unable to drop its bombs on the closely battling troops.
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| − | [ST] In snow drifts rising to mid thigh, the Shanarinarans fight desperately, ferociously, tearing into their enemy with everything they have. But it is not enough. They are tired, scattered, frightened, and the Haslanti are bearing down upon them from every direction.
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| − | [ST] Molphas falls back, coughing, watching his best and brightest die around him. His forces are shattered. The flower of Nabradian youth has died in this blighted, snow-ridden hell hole. He looks around at his demoralized, shattered troops, and realizes that his city will never be the same.
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| − | [Otter] Otter vaults over the infantry, screaming Fox-and-Bear war cries. She is flanked by her guard; she is astonished to see Savage Bear-Daughter there as well, one whole arm soaked in red. She does not fight so much as ram her way through the packed troops, spear this and that man or woman. Now and then she has to leap over an elk corpse as well. Her arm is beginning to grow heavy. "SURRENDER!" she shouts, when she's
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| − | [Otter] within yelling distance of the general.
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| − | [ST] "We know how you treat your prisoners!" the General shouts back. His long, impressive grey mustache is stiff with frost, his face windburned and red. This close, Otter can make out the terrified face of those troops who remain with him, a ragged, devastated scattering of what, only an hour earlier, was a complete army.
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| − | [Otter] "Look around you, man!" Otter says, forcing her elk forward. Some enterprising defenders have formed a barricade of corpses in front of the general's retinue. "Your army is dead! Your soldiers are dead!" She claps her feet suddenly to the flank of her elk, startling her defenders.
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| − | [Otter] Savage Bear Daughter's eyes widen and she reaches for her, but Otter has already surged out of reach, leaping atop the corpses then vaulting over a line of raised halbreds. The elk lands in front of the general, Otter's speartip points at the General's throat.
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| − | [Otter] "These are your people. Live or die. That's the only choice you can make for them now." She is surrounded by the enemy.
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| − | [ST] The old man leans heavily on his blade. It, too, is stained red. His steely gaze reveals little but exhaustion, even with the spearpoint quivering at his throat. "They died on their feet. Better that than rotting in one of your freezing dungeons. Better that for all of us."
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| − | [Otter] Otter tosses her head, insulted. "Better you had not attacked," she says cooly. "I am Fox-and-Bear. Surrender honorably, and I will treat you honorably. Or die like a dog in the snow."
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| − | [Otter] "Enough have died today."
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| − | [ST] "Most of them were mine." He spits on the blade of her spear. "You speak ot me of honor, after this butchery? What was honorable in this?"
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| − | [ST] Around him, the wounded and the dying scream, bleeding out into the snow, senseless of everything going on around them.
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| − | [Otter] Otter almost kills him then, but she forces herself to be calm. "This is not honor," she says quietly. "This is mercy. Accept it."
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| − | [ST] "I will surrender," he snarls, the words coming out of him like ice. "You may claim me as hostage. Allow my men to retreat. I will not have them as Haslanti captives."
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| − | [Otter] "Very well. But your men surrender also. They must leave their armor behind them, and any weapon made with steel. And they must vow, each of them, to never take up arms against the Haslanti again. Do you accept?"
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| − | [ST] He shudders, miserable. Old. Tired. He should never have come here. Molphas the Coward, they will call him. Molphas the Failure. Molphas the Old. His children... they will have to understand.
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| − | [ST] "The vow I can accept. But our weapons, our armor? You must know that the Wolf will tear us to pieces herself when she sees us retreat."
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| − | [Otter] Otter shakes her head. Tch. Such allies they chose. She tilts her thoughtfully. This was how it was done among the tribes. Even if the Greenfielders lacked any honor themselves, she thought them well beaten. She raises herself high in the stirrups and regards the shattered army. A young man who is hardly more than a boy weeps silently to himself, though he still held his spear.
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| − | [Otter] She settles herself back down. "Very well. Choose who will lead them home."
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| − | [Otter] She lets loose three piercing whistles. Stand down.
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| − | [ST] Molphas looks through the ranks for his trusted sub commanders, and finds them missing, one after another. All gone, swallowed by the snow.
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| − | [ST] "Garim." He points him out at last, a young man with a dour face, silent tears of frustration running down his windburned cheeks. "You. Lead them home. Do not come into contact with the forces of the Winter Wolf. Do not listen to the orders of any other Shanarinaran commander. I charge you to deliver news of our defeat to Nabradia."
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| − | [ST] "But sir- you can't-"
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| − | [ST] "Go."
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| − | [ST] The man looks at Otter, bitter anger marring his face. "Will these savages at least let us gather our wounded? Or do they plan to eat them?"
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| − | [ST] The general cuffs him, the slap reverberating, driving the man to his knees. "Watch your tongue, boy. Don't make this humiliation of mine for nothing."
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| − | [Otter] You southlanders taste too fatty, Otter almost says, but the quip dies on her lips. They had suffered too much. "You may gather your wounded, and take your supplies south with you." Pointless to spare them only to let them starve to death on the march home; worst to give them incentive to prey on any refugees they encountered. Otter looks at the defeated general. He was not without courage, she decides, even in defeat.
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| − | [ST] "Get to it, Garim," Molphas says again, and the man hurries off. The army dissolves, then, before Otter's eyes, becoming nothing but a mass of refugees. Some try to gather the wounded. Others just collapse, from exhaustion or despair, weeping where they kneel.
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| − | [ST] "And what of me?" The old man asks Otter, watching his army disperse. "Am I to be... an example?"
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| − | [Otter] Otter calls over a reliable-looking young woman with braided hair and blue tattoos covering her face to guard the prisoner. She looks surprised and then scowls ferociously. "I am Fox-and-Bear," she snaps at him. "You are a prisoner of Fox-and-Bear." As if that were answer enough. Grudgingly, she adds, "You have behaved honorably, in battle and in defeat. Why should I return dishonor?"
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| − | [ST] "Perhaps it would have been better had I died." He surveys the devastation of the battlefield, the piled corpses, the bloody, entrail-laden snow. Members of Otter's forces move here and there, burning incense, a standard precaution at a site of such slaughter.
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| − | [ST] "The armies of our city are ruined. Its ambitions destroyed."
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| − | [Otter] Otter's elk dances to the side, and she occupies herself briging it under control. It was sad for them: no doubt about it. "That is so," she observes without condemning. "The twin children of battle, my people say. Glory and ruin."
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| − | [ST] "Yes." The old man sits down on a fallen log, putting his head in his hands. "I suppose the glory goes to you."
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| − | [Otter] A smile slowly dawns on Otter's face. "Yes," she says. "I suppose it does." She whistles sharply, four times, and the Elk Riders form up, save the one disgruntled guard she left on the general- just to discourage him from any rash or dishonorable ideas. "I will speak to you later; I have another engagement."
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| − | [ST] Molphas nods. Better. At least he wouldn't have to face them at home. He did not envy Garim. It was a long way to walk, and failure was heavy.
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| − | [Otter] She leaves some of the more tired-looking Elk Riders behind to supervise the collection of their dead and wounded and the Elk Riders move at a trot up Serpent Road.
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| − | [Otter] She carefully keeps her eyes fixed on the horizon, and away from the dead and wounded strewn like broken dolls across the landscape.
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| − | | |
| − | === The Battle of Broken Glass ===
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| − | Haslanti Victory
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| − | Casualties:
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| − | Haslanti: ~10
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| − | Shanarinaran: ~600
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| − | | |
| − | -----
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