Cover art by Runa Solaris
000
Der Tag bricht an und Mars regiert die Stunde
Verheertes Land gleicht einer offnen Wunde
(d’Artagnan, “Wallenstein”)
001
The first dead body Antoin could see lay a long way away from the hill. From where he was standing the young man couldn't see the face of the corpse and there wasn't much to see there as the large part of the dead man's head was missing, sent splattering by a lucky musket ball, but Antoin could've sworn that the dead was utterly perplexed by the fact of his death. He saw those soldiers march - each and every one of them so sure that the death would pass on them and find the other guy to take.
And when they fell, they couldn't believe that it was they who were “the other guy” all along.
There were more bodies closer to the hill, no less surprised than that first one.
Charging uphill was tough. The defenders, holed up in the ruins of some old house at the hilltop, had all kinds of advantages against the attacking force. They didn't have to go anywhere for one. The soldiers of General Charte, on the other hand, needed to march through the field, drums and bugles and all, and then run uphill to engage their foe.
The foe who rather refused to be engaged in close quarters. The defenders much preferred their current situation where they could land shot after shot on the marching rows of soldiers.
The cannons helped, of course, but not by much. And not just because the cannoneers were the most untrained sloppy and nearsighted bunch of human-like apes this country had seen since the birth of Christ, - or so listening to General Charte would make you believe, - but also for the reason of shortage of cannon balls, which was quite apparent and somewhat expected, as their campaign had already dragged for too long.
Not long enough to have a problem with basic supplies - but only because the troops could replenish some of those from the land they were campaigning on. Unfortunately, that didn't work with more special supplies: you can't hunt cannon balls in the woods or fish them out of the rivers.
And so, line after line, row after row, the soldiers of the Holy Army marched to the foot of the hill with the order to charge the hilltop where despicable heretics were still holding ground as an affront to the true faith.
002
“God damn those heretics!” General Charte lowered his spyglass and spat on the ground. “God damn them straight to Hell!”
“Don't say the name of our Lord in vain, general,” said the monk in a grey robe, who was standing next to the general.
Their voices took Antoin out of his thoughts. He couldn't know what the general was thinking while looking at the same picture through his spyglass but judging by his words, the general’s thoughts were identical to the Antoin’s. And the monk… the monk always was there, next to the military commander. Sometimes alone, sometimes together with others, all in the same grey robes, they followed the army, making sure nobody forgot what they were fighting for.
“Or what will he do to me?” The general suddenly groaned. “Will he send me to Hell instead of those heretics, who, apparently, aren't as dangerous to him as a simple military man waging a war in his name… and sometimes cursing at his enemies.”
“Those are blasphemous words, General.” The monk said with a note of anger in his voice. “Have faith and the Lord will guide you and your man to the Promised Land…”
“Promised Land… The Garden of Eden…” General spat on the ground. “Each of the men you see around you, monk, will happily give that up for a chance… a chance to get home.”
“Stay strong, general,” the monk made the sign of the cross. “You must have faith and the rest will come to you.”
“Faith… I have enough faith. What I need is more men.”
“You've already made a pact that we don't approve of…”
“And it doesn't seem to be working.” The general looked across the battlefield again, as if searching for something. “The sun will be setting soon and they didn't come. Maybe they got scared at the last moment…”
“You can win this war on your own, with the help and guidance from the Lord and the Holy Church.” The monk said. “You don't need dubious alliances…”
The sun touched the horizon, a great ball of crimson blood draped into the clouds of all shades of red.
003
And then Antoin saw. He heard nothing but he pulled at the cloth of the General’s sleeve and pointed at where the crimson sun was splashing red along the horizon.
They were coming.
They rode in total silence.
No battlecries, no orders shouted, no warnings, nothing. Only the steady sound of the horses’ hooves pounding the ground.
Riders in heavy dark red armor crossed over the horizon and into the people's view.
As if the sun wasn't the sun but was an egg that hit the ground and cracked open, and out of that egg, they spilled.
Red armor.
Black horses.
They approached fast and soon Antoin could discern every little detail of the intricate metalwork of their armor that was composed of the interconnected stripes of metal and looked almost alive when they moved.
There was one rider in the lead. One that was… different. For one, they had a great mane of long black hair that couldn't be contained by the helmet and flew up and into the air behind them when the rider leaned forward as the horse picked up speed. Secondly, they were armed with a greatsword with a long, wavy blade reminiscent of either waves of water or a tongue of flame. And they kept this huge weapon in just one hand, using the other to steer the horse.
And lastly… it was a “she”. It was absolutely certainly definitely a woman, as evidenced by a pair of naked breasts modeled in great detail on the front of her armor.
A woman led the quiet charge of crimson warriors who Antoin did not know about - but he safely assumed it was those “allies” he just heard the General speaking about.
“She came…” the monk hissed.
“And not a moment too soon!” General took his spyglass to his eye again. “Let's see if they really are as good as she said.”
004
“Do they really want to charge uphill?” Antoin thought to himself when he saw the lead horse trample the first dead soldier’s body. He wasn't sure as it was far away, but he thought he saw the laying body’s head explode under the hooves of the beast.
Charging the well-defended positions on the hill was suicidal. Surely, with just a few shots…
There were more than a few shots. The defenders saw the attacking horsemen and unleashed everything they had on them, including a single shot of a small cannon that was silent all day.
None of the shots had any effect.
Not that they missed - apart from the cannonball that went too high and flew too far.
But the riders in crimson armor seemed to simply ignore such minute hindrances as musket balls hitting them in the chest.
The clouds of gunpowder smoke filled the air again; picked by the light wind, they slowly began crawling towards the battlefield only to be thrown in total disarray by the force of horses running full speed ahead.
The leader swung her sword to the side, keeping it parallel to the ground, cutting the smoke in half at about the level of an average human’s neck, and leaned even more forward, urging her horse and those following her to pick up speed, to go even faster.
And so they did.
It wasn't even a charge.
The crimson riders almost flew uphill, closing the distance in a moment, and…
…And all Antoin could hear were the strangely muffled death screams of heretics, as figures in red armor put their various weaponry to use.
When they were done, they rode away, as silent as they came. Only their leader took her time to ride close to where the General was standing and call out to him.
“We did our job, General!” She shouted without taking off her helmet. “No survivors. Tomorrow morning you may send your people in.”
The general just waved his hand, letting her know he heard her. The monk was kneeling beside him, his lips were moving in a silent prayer.
As the figure in red armor rode away, Antoin saw the last rays of the setting sun reflected on the blade of her wavy greatsword. He couldn't tell if it was covered in blood or if it was just the red Sun’s reflection.
“Antoin!” The General called out to him as if he had just remembered his existence and handed him the spyglass. “Here! Pick up the maps too… Let's get back to camp.”
005
And this is how it was from then on during the morning and day hours, General Charte’s army performed a nominal assault on the heretics' fortified position or some enemy-held village. And it was absolutely nominal: the moment men, marching forward heard first shots fired at them, they turned around and tactically retreated with an incredible speed at their previous position outside of the enemy's firing range.
Then, when the Sun was first kissing the ground goodnight, the red avalanche of armor-clad horsemen rode in and annihilated the heretics, only to disappear again.
The monks were furious. The monks called the Heavens’ Holy Judgement at General Charte's head, his family, his loved ones, and his favorite dog.
“This is not how the Holy War should be fought, General!” the monk was shaking his fist above his head. “This is not what we are fighting for!”
“It saves the men’s lives, so we can go on this campaign longer. It gets the job done, exterminating those pesky heretics.” General shrugged. “Why are you so upset about it?”
“It is wrong! Wrong! You're using the devil’s own creation for the War of Faith! It is wrong!”
“Devil's own…?”
“Didn't you see who rides shamelessly in front of your newfound allies? So-called allies?” The monk made a sign of the cross as if even mentioning something like this was a mortal sin. “It's a woman, General! And you know it, you've negotiated with her! And you know this woman is no saint or holy maiden! She's sinful! Corrupted! Obscene!”
Antoin, who just happened to overhear this conversation while standing behind the General’s tent with a kettle full of boiling water, immediately recalled the time when she got to see that woman's face. It was one of the rare occasions when she rode into their camp to learn from the General where and when they were about to strike next. She was still on her horse when she took her helmet off, and Antoin saw her despite it being almost nighttime. Short bangs on her forehead, dark amber eyes, and the lips of bright red. She smiled at him and asked if the General was in his tent. Antoin couldn't find the courage to say a word in response. He never saw a real Queen but this is exactly how a monarch looked like in his mind. She smiled and jumped off the horse, moving easily despite the heavy armor she was wearing.
“Why so full of thoughts, soldier? Are you thinking of having a feel?” She pointed at her breastplate. “Or are you trying to guess how much smaller are the ones inside?”
“N-no, milady…” Antoin managed to push several words out of himself. “The General is… is inside…”
She simply nodded and went into the tent. That was how Antoin remembered her.
“I do not care what she does in her free time,” General said with a smile. “As long as she and her men destroy what I tell them to destroy - they're a useful instrument. That's how I see it.”
“Then you are blind, General! Or even worse… if we see that she's corrupted you as well… You know we have a lot of power, General. You better not test its limits.”
“I understand, your holiness…” General quietly bowed, knowing full well that the monk was right. “But we still need the allies… for now. We need to take that castle.”
“The castle you've promised her! Like it is yours to give! It should belong to the Holy Church!”
“Don’t worry about it…” the General lowered his eyes. “When the castle is ours, this campaign ends. And with it ends all alliances.”
“That's…” the monk looked at the General with curiosity. “That's acceptable, General. If that was your plan all along, I must commend you for your ingenuity.”
“Yes, it was so. I like being handed victories by a woman no more than you like her showing off her womanhood to everyone. So we end it there. At the castle.”
“So be it.” The monk made a sign of the cross again. “God wills it.”
006
All day after that Antoin was walking round and round the camp as if he was searching for something. And he indeed was searching but not for some ordinary thing as food or water or a free ear to pour his unhappiness in. He was searching for an answer and the courage to put the answer he found into the real deed.
He now knew what the General and the monks wanted to do to that overwhelmingly royal woman. It was… it was wrong. It was cruel. It was a betrayal.
Yet what he could do about it? He didn't know where the woman and her riders came from or where they went after they finished their job. And he was sure that if he went searching for the red armored riders’ camp, he not only wouldn't find anything, but the General and the monks would know he heard their conversation, and that would condemn Antoin completely, body and soul, for the eternal torture in this world and beyond.
Part of him wanted to go out, to find that woman and her red riders, to warn them of the General’s plan. Part of him wanted to do what's right.
Yet another part of him, the one that just wanted to survive, that part that wanted for this whole war to end and go home cried in terror at the mere thought of doing something so immensely reckless.
He was a mere man faced with the decision more suitable for the likes of General Charte or that red woman.
He couldn't do it.
He accepted defeat and gave up.
He did nothing.
007
The time of the siege came. The time to take the castle - the very prize of this campaign.
No general would send his army in a suicidal assault on the high walls and the gates made of the hardest wood. If only they had enough gunpowder and balls for the artillery to bring the fortifications down… If only they had.
It would be much easier then.
Antoin wasn't sure how the general planned on taking the castle, even with the help of his mighty allies. For no horse would be able to take its rider over the wall that high. Did that woman also have some siege engines in her arsenal?
Antoin wondered and waited for the Sun to begin traveling down to the horizon. He was sure the red horsemen would show up as they always did.
And then some miracle will happen. Some divine intervention will resolve this situation in a way that would make everyone happy.
So Antoin thought, watching the castle walls from a distance.
The Sun set.
Nobody came.
The general cursed and threw his spyglass on the ground.
“So, General,” the monk appeared as if out of nowhere, using this opportunity to speak. “It would seem your allies have abandoned you. We told you they can't be trusted.”
“If that's true…” The general spat on the ground. “Then we're done here. We'll never take this castle and we won't be able to starve them out before we starve ourselves.”
“You should have faith, General. Put your faith in the true God, not in some woman on a horse… With faith, you can break through any wall.”
“No man would be crazy enough to go for the assault even if I order them.”
“Let us deal with that, General,” the monk said. “Let me speak to the troops and you'll see for yourself what power the God’s words have.”
“So be it, monk. If you convince them, we will attack tomorrow. But if not… we'll have a long perilous march back home ahead of us.”
008
It was still early morning but all that was left of the General Charte's army was gathered out in the open, listening to the monk in grey robes. The men were yawning at first, but soon, the power of the monk’s voice dragged them in and made them listen carefully and quietly.
“You should not fear death! For the Lord saw your fear and had given you the promise of the life eternal! If you free yourself of sin, you will be saved from any harm and lifted into God’s promised kingdom!”
The monk’s voice had feverish undertones to it, and that fever started spreading as most diseases do - though it infected not the bodies of men but their minds, bringing them into the same state of mind the monk wanted.
“Do not fear the walls of this castle! Don't look at them and despair in your hearts! For no wall is a match to the strength of true faith. For no wall is impenetrable before the might of our Lord! For the walls should fall as the walls of Jericho! For any wall will crumble into dust if your faith is strong and your spirit is pure!”
The men started cheering. A few of them were first, but more and more joined until the whole army was united in their feverish decisiveness. The monk had given them hope. The monk had given them a purpose. The monk had given them conviction and they were determined to follow on it.
The army marched out.
The army was united by the promise of might and uplifted by the strength of their faith.
The army cheered.
Even when the first shots from the castle walls found their targets. Even when the first dead bodies fell on the ground.
The army cheered and pressed on.
Even when the walls didn't crumble and when the gates didn't miraculously open themselves.
The army fervourously pressed on.
And then… then there was the sound of hooves hitting the ground.
009
They came as an avalanche. As a force of nature that unexpectedly reveals itself and changes the course of events on a geographical scale. As if the mountain crumbled to dust, or the earth itself parted and formed a deep crevice, or the river changed its course and flooded previously flowering meadows. Such was their impact.
Some of them chose to abandon their horses and ran on all fours instead like wild beasts, still covered in metal. Barreling forward with the force of the cannonball, they tore through the ranks of General Charte’s army leaving in their path nothing but broken bones and torn flesh of the dead and dying.
But the single cheerful cry from the castle walls turned to be premature as the figures in red didn't stop with slaughtering their former allies. With horror, Antoin saw as they propelled themselves upwards and half-flew, half-ran over the walls, reaching their top in mere moments and turning their defender into splatters of blood and flying pieces of meat.
A second later, the bulk of the riders broke through the gates - the hardwood and metal failing to stop the charge of their horses and breaking into scraps and splinters.
The battlefield was theirs.
There were no more alliances and allegiances. There was only slaughter and blood. Heretics and true believers fell the same under their might. They were unstoppable, and they didn't stop until there was none left but the warriors in dark red armor on the field of drying blood glistening in the sunlight. They didn't stop until this field and the castle was theirs.
Antoin heard… no, he felt something and ducked down. There was the motion of the air above him and it was a very long second before he realised what it was.
He turned his head and saw General Charte and the monk in grey robes falling on the ground, seemingly cut by the one swing of the greatsword held in a single hand by the woman in dark red armor.
She looked at him from behind the narrow slit of her helmet.
010
Atoin was scared. Scared for his life. Scared to the point where his world went completely dark and filled with empty cries and fruitless hopes. He writhed on the ground at the hooves of the woman's horse and begged her to spare him. He apologized for not being brave enough to bring her a warning of the General's treachery. He whispered that his only wish was to survive and return home.
She listened to his pleas in silence.
“Why would you ask for something that's already given to you?” She finally asked.
And those words have broken through the darkness of fear, filling Antoin's mind. He… he remembered. Remembers that time he saw her without her helmet. How he saw her face and the intensity of her eyes and lowered his gaze, only for her to jump off the horse, step to him, and give him a kiss on the neck.
The kiss hurt like a needle.
Het lips were deathly cold.
“Stand up, soldier! If not for your thoughts on that day, I wouldn't know when the commander would decide he had enough of my company,” the woman said. “You are a mere weakling for now. So weak, even the Sun can't hurt you, and you don't have to armor yourself against it. But despite this - you're one of us.
“You're a new, youngest soldier in my, Cordellina Wallenstein’s, army.
“Stand up and join us in celebration.
“Because we are finally home.”
