The first stage of the battle turned against them quickly. Akira saw his men fall off the wall in droves. It seemed like no time at all had passed before the Azarians had taken the wall. Although they were too far away to know for certain, Akira was sure he was seeing hunters for the first time. They dropped into the fort itself, and again Akira lost sight of them. Akira feared what would happen inside. With hunters, fortified places of safety became death traps with very few exits. He couldn’t imagine the terror seizing the hearts of those stationed inside the fort.
In the past few moons he had searched archives throughout the Kingdom for everything he could find on fighting nightblades. It was the closest he could come to learning how to fight hunters. What he learned made his head spin. Those who could sense and fight changed all the rules of warfare. Some of the greatest massacres in history had come from just a handful of nightblades entering a fortification. In close spaces each could kill dozens without difficulty.
Akira had cautioned the commander of the fort prior to the battle. He emphasized that it was better to retreat and save lives than remain and save their honor. He was grateful when the gates to the fortress opened and men came streaming out. Once the hunters were inside, the men didn’t have a chance. Akira’s orders had been to abandon the fort when it happened. He hadn’t been sure up until this point the commander would follow orders, as it was strongly against tradition to retreat when you outnumbered the enemy. But the commander had swallowed his pride and called the retreat.
The men joined ranks with their fellow soldiers. Akira glanced to the east and saw the sun was just halfway over the horizon. He had hoped they would hold the fort a while longer, but he wasn’t surprised. This battle would be decided on the open field. They had always known that.
For a while, an ominous silence fell upon the battlefield. Akira guessed the hunters would be opening the doors of the fortress, allowing the Azarians to pack in. It felt as though the world took a deep breath, the last calm before the storm broke upon their ranks. Soon they would be opening all the gates on the north side of the fortress. If all went according to plan, they would charge straight down the center, where Akira stood with his men.
The sun had just finished rising when the doors opened again and the Azarians came flying out of the fortress. It was the most disorganized mess Akira had ever seen. There was no orderly advance here, just men, women, and children running from the fort in all directions. Akira’s eyes narrowed. Although their movement seemed random, groups would form and head in specific directions. It wasn’t organized, but there was a purpose to what was happening. Mashiro, standing next to Akira, noticed it too. “They are splitting into three prongs.”
Akira nodded. “I agree.”
Mashiro was the commander in charge. He and Makoto were equal in rank, but Mashiro was the better strategist, and it was his mind they relied on. Akira had learned long ago to trust his general. Mashiro sent messages to the armies waiting in the valleys to the west and east. “If the Azarians take the ridgelines, we won’t have a chance. Attack now and hold the ridge.” Messengers sprinted away to deliver Mashiro’s commands. Akira approved.
The battle was met in front of them. The silence had been replaced by the war-cries of both sides, and those had been replaced by the ringing sound of steel on steel. It seemed there was no end to the numbers of Azarians pouring out through the Three Sisters. Akira watched with fascination as they funneled through the fortress and spread out again on the other side. The valley before him was full of them, but when he looked up, he saw the pass was still packed with Azarians, waiting eagerly to join the battle. Archers from the Kingdom loosed flight after flight of arrows into the advancing lines, and it seemed that everywhere Akira looked Azarians were falling. But still they kept coming, fearless in the face of the strength of Akira’s armies.
For a time it seemed like a massacre. Akira’s armies were prepared and orderly, and the sky was thick with arrows, the ground slick with the blood of the Azarians. Akira wondered if the Azarians would break and run back to their own people, but they kept pressing forward, a relentless pressure against Akira’s troops. Akira had never seen so many people on a battlefield before.
Step by bloody step, the Azarians progressed, their ranks continually reinforced by the endless sea of humanity behind them. Akira could see areas of commotion in his ranks, and he feared a hunter was at the center of each. Arrows still flew through the air, but they weren’t as thick as they once were. More and more archers were switching to their swords in order to defend themselves. Everywhere Akira looked the battle was joined in earnest, and he thought that even if he survived, the sound of steel would ring in his ears until the day he died.
In the midst of it all, Akira saw him. There was no way of being certain, but there was no denying the man fit the description Akira had received from Moriko. The man stood a head taller than anyone on the field, and he left a wake of effortless death behind him. He seemed to leap from point to point, always rescuing his people just as they were about to fall. Everywhere he went the Azarians redoubled their efforts, and he was making his way towards Akira.
Akira tried to follow Nameless, but the battle was too chaotic and he moved too fast. All Akira knew for sure was that their present location wouldn’t be safe for much longer. He ordered his honor guard to switch to a different position to buy them some more time.
As they retreated, a hunter broke through their ranks. It was a woman, and she left a trail of bodies in her wake. Akira’s honor guard jumped into action, spears at the ready. He watched with fascination. His honor guard had been training exclusively in tactics against nightblades, and Akira wondered how they would function against a hunter in the real world.
The biggest change they had made was that his honor guard had drilled extensively in the use of the spear for the past few cycles. The longer reach protected them from the speed of the hunters. If a single guard went up against them this way, a nightblade or a hunter would easily get inside the reach of the spear, rendering it worse than useless. But when they fought as a unit, the stories said spears were most successful at killing nightblades. Akira hoped the stories hadn’t been lying, and that the same strategies would work against hunters.
The hunter saw Akira and leapt for him. Akira drew his own sword and deflected two cuts. He couldn’t have stopped the third, but the hunter was stopped short by the spears of Akira’s honor guard. Akira was proud, if just for a moment. He had crossed swords with a hunter and lived to tell about it, even if it was only because he had a hundred men backing him up.
The hunter backed up, and Akira’s honor guard fell into a circle around her two rows deep. At first they kept their distance, ensuring their formation was set before advancing. The hunter saw what was happening, a trace of fear in her eyes. She darted towards one edge, trying to find a weak part of the circle. But even if she could knock aside a spear or three, there were always more spears there to protect their friends in the front of the line. Try as she might, she couldn’t figure a way out.
Akira’s honor guard didn’t give her a chance. They advanced in unison, spears closing in. Akira forced himself to watch as she eventually fell under more than a dozen spear thrusts. He had always preferred the sword, but his men needed every weapon they had to fight back. War was no place for honor.
The sun was high in the sky and still the battle raged on. The sheer number of people in front of Akira was staggering, and he was impressed Makoto and Mashiro could keep any semblance of order in the combat. It was a day that would define their history. He had no doubt many legends would be born today.
Akira looked to the pass itself. He was further away than he had been this morning, but still, it seemed to him that fewer Azarians were streaming through it. Perhaps they were almost all through. Akira scanned the battlefield. If so, he thought his troops would hold. They would save the Kingdom.
Akira caught Makoto as he was giving orders to Akira’s troops on the left flank. The giant was covered in blood and had a grim look on his face.
“How goes the battle? It looks like our lines are holding.”
Makoto nodded, but he didn’t smile. “They are for now, but I don’t know for how much longer. Already our reinforcements are committed.”
“Unless my eyes deceive me, there aren’t as many Azarians coming through the pass.”
Makoto nodded again, but Akira still couldn’t see any relief in the general’s face. Makoto turned to the pass and studied it. “Their hunters have killed and scattered almost all of our scouts and outriders. We don’t know much of anything beyond what Mashiro and I can see right now, and that frightens both of us.”
“Why?”
Makoto looked at his king as though he was missing the most obvious fact in the world. “We haven’t yet seen any of their cavalry. The report from that nightblade said they were stellar horsemen, and we have yet to see a single horse come through that pass. It means their main blow hasn’t fallen yet, and already we are close to breaking. Mashiro is considering ordering the northern cavalries to charge now.”
Akira couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It had been obvious, but he had missed it. But even he could see Mashiro’s plan had flaws. “If we order the northern troops in now, we won’t have anybody to flank the Azarian cavalry, if your guess is correct.”
Makoto nodded. “You’re right, but if we don’t get help soon our lines will break, and once they do, we won’t have any chance of winning this battle. Mashiro thinks the Azarians knew where all our troops were located before the battle began. Their attacks seem chaotic, but there is an order to them, and their movements have been too well placed to be coincidence.”
Akira had to ask the tough question. “Have we lost?”
Makoto thought for a moment. He never spoke until he was sure of his answer. “Not yet, but it won’t take much to push us past a point where we can’t win anymore.”
Akira let Makoto return to his duties, considering the words the giant had said. If they were going to lose, the smartest decision would be to retreat, but Akira wasn’t sure he could give that order yet. The consequences of that decision were severe, and although it would save the lives of his men on the battlefield, it might cost far more lives in his kingdom.
The battle seemed to take forever and no time at all. The next time Akira noticed the sun, it was well on its way to setting. Still the lines held, but only through acts of valor that someday would become legends told to their descendants. Even Akira could see his men were close to breaking. They should have already, but they kept fighting and pushing harder than they ever had. Every man on the field knew what was at stake. All their plans had failed them, but still they fought. He was proud.
They still hadn’t seen a single horse. Akira kept an eye out for them, as well as the one Moriko called Nameless. But neither appeared.
Makoto and Mashiro found Akira, and their look was grim. Akira could guess what they were going to say.
“We need to decide whether to call the northern armies down or not.”
Akira looked at them. “I trust your decisions. Why come to me?”
“Because this is bigger than this battle, and it affects the whole kingdom. Our lines will shatter soon, and when they do the battle will be over. With the cavalry, we can break their advance. However, if our suspicions are right, and they are holding a large force in reserve, it could all be for naught. If we retreat now we’ll have many more men to resist an occupation, but we’ll have lost the battle. It needs to be your decision. Try to win here or win later.”
Akira wished for a moment that leadership had never passed to him. He envied the life of a farmer, responsible only for his family and his own land.
“Even if you won’t make the decision, what do you recommend?”
The two generals shared a look and grinned. They had been friends for a long time, although sometimes Akira forgot it. Mashiro spoke first, as he always did. “Fight.”
Makoto spoke next. “Retreat.”
Akira looked from general to general, unbelieving. For them to argue at such a time was beyond comprehension. It forced him to laugh. It wasn’t a hearty laugh, but Makoto and Mashiro joined him in it, a brief moment of release from the fear and tension they all felt.
Perhaps it was wisest to retreat, but Akira couldn’t swallow the idea. He didn’t want his land invaded by the Azarians. It meant more death and suffering than he wanted on his soul. They had to try.
“Send the order. Charge.”
The two men nodded and went to their work. They said nothing in judgment. Akira knew Mashiro would be pleased. He was more willing to take chances, but Makoto would be disappointed. He hated to see his men at risk.
Akira took a moment to look around. It was in the light of the dying sun that the fate of his kingdom would be decided. He saw the flags wave, relaying a message to the northern armies to charge. He saw his men in the valley were struggling valiantly, but they couldn’t possibly last much longer.
There was a shout and a cry of alarm, and Akira ran to where Makoto and Mashiro were huddled with their commanders. Several of them were pointing towards the mountains. Akira followed their gaze but couldn’t see what they were pointing at. But he heard snippets of their conversation and realized what was happening.
“No flags.”
“. . . been overrun.”
He understood. The relays which were being used to send orders to the cavalry had been run over by the Azarians. Sen’s First Army was in that direction, his best troops. Without them, it would be difficult to break the Azarian advance.
Makoto didn’t hesitate. “Give me a set of northern flags.”
The commanders protested. “Sir, allow one of us to go instead.”