Skirmish during the Dawsbury Offensive Or, A First Taste of Battle

The dark, cool spring afternoon deposited a slight misting rain upon the flat countryside. A solitary rider, the collar of her heavy, woollen coat pulled up against chill air, stood atop a solitary hill and gazed out over the rolling farmland; her black cap and its solitary black feather provide scant protection from the elements. Motionless until now, she patted her horse as it shook the rain from its head. Her piercing green eyes scanned the landscape assuredly before landing on a single point in the distance. A look of slight concern flashed across her face before it hardened again. She wheeled her horse around and, gazing at the gathering of similar dressed riders below her, gestured for one of them to join her.

Gods they look so young, she thought, of course, there are those who’d say I’m too young, too.

The other rider joined her at the top of the hillock.

“Field Officer Hanali, you wanted to see me?”, the woman stated. She was dressed in the same mottled grey coat, her brown hair sprawled out from under the same black cap. She was Margret Nim, referred to as Sea Bass by her colleagues.

“Sea Bass,” Hanali pointed sharply towards the horizon, “what do think that could be?”

“Could be a camp. Could be what’s left of some poor shit’s farm.” Nim responded, her attention focused on the lazily billowing smoke stark against the horizon, “But I don’t think we’re close enough to really know for sure, ma’am.”

“You don’t think they're smarter than that?”

“Well I don’t think it’s a trap, if that’s what you’re getting after, ma’am.” Hanali sat grimly in the saddle, not responding. Nim thumbed the locket around her neck absentmindedly. She looked up into the rain and winked the water out of one of her eyes before addressing Hanali.

“It might just be that they’re trying to stay warm. I know that I’d rather be by a fire right now. And I think they’re thinking the same,” Nim nodded towards the riders waiting at the foot of the hill, “So if you’re thinking of something, ma’am, might as well get it started soon.”

“Alright. Tell them all we’re going north-east, going to take a look at something. Tell them to be ready for anything to come up.”

“We’re not going rig--” Nim began before getting cut off.

“I’m not stupid Sea Bass. We’re just getting close enough to so we know exactly what’s out there. Then we report back to 2nd Division. Is that good enough for you?”

“I guess I’m still not sure about these uniforms,” she sighed, glancing down at her locket once again, “the leathers are fine, I guess, but these caps aren’t anything. Can’t even keep the rain off us, much less a Crow’s lance. Ma’am.”

“If you wanted all of that, you should’ve joined the infantry,” Hanali replied with a smirk, “These aren’t supposed to keep us safe, they’re supposed to keep us quiet. Ideally we aren’t getting into any scraps. But it never hurts to be careful, so make sure we’ve got our sword hands ready.” Nim nodded, spun her horse around and cantered down to the waiting riders below.

The assorted riders halted their hushed discussions as she rode down to them.

“What’s the word?” asked a serious-looking man with a broken nose.

“There’s smoke on the horizon. Northeast. Field Officer Hanali wants us to investigate. Could be a force of them camping,” Nim reported matter-of-factly, “She also says we should expect anything, she wants weapons out.” This was met with groans, curses and the nervous shifting of weight from the assembled riders.

“Well, no sense in waiting around,” a new voice spoke up, this one belonging to a handsome, stubbled man with a wry grin on his face, “Let’s get this over with and get back to the camp before they run out of dinner, alright?” 1st Ranger Eberhart kicked his horse into action and trotted up towards the top of the hill. The others followed.

The rain had trailed off as afternoon went on and some weak sunlight began to pierce through the cloud cover, warming the spirits of the men and women riding across the nearly abandoned farmland. They had picked their way across the fields and thin, snaking country roads. Only the most stubborn, or desperate, stayed in their homes after the heralds passed through. Their silent, scared eyes watched the riders pass through the gaps in their boarded up windows.

We’re getting near enough now, Hanali thought, stopping her horse by a moss-covered stone wall that snaked its way along the creek. They had just passed by a solitary water mill, it’s wheel still spinning, quiet and alone. That trace of smoke from on the hill was still the only sign they saw. She just needed a little more. And then she saw all that she needed to see; a group of Croemerth light cavalry standing across the field of millet grain, silhouetted against the clouded sky.

Shit! Maybe they haven’t-- her hopes were dashed when she saw the riders across the field begin to move towards them.

“Crows! Form up! Light cavalry across the way! Looks like we’ve got a fight coming our way!” Hanali readied her riders. The dour man with the broken nose rode up next to her.

“You sure we shouldn’t turn back?”

“They’d be on us too soon. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer that my squad doesn’t get run down and gored in the back. You can do what you want with yours.” The man with broken nose glanced around at the riders beside him. They looked back at him pointedly. He gazed down, considering his options before replying bitterly.

“Alright, we’ll do it your way. You think you’re better than us don’t you? I hope your arrogance doesn’t get us killed this quickly.” He spat as he rejoined his squad of riders.

“I am better than you!” Hanali hollered at the back of the man before joining her squad in formation.

The two forces met in the middle of the tilled ground. The hooves of the horses tore up the soil and the adolescent crop. The neat rows torn up by the very first ripples of war. Hanali and her Vargans numbered thirty, the Crows across from her numbered about the same. Both sides were similarly armored, favoring speed and weight over protection, but the Crows had spears. Her Vargans were armed with swords and axes. When the two sides first reached one another, the stabbing, probing spears of the Crows took some casualties, one of which was Margret Nim.

It had been so quick she almost missed it. A tip of a lance had come up and pierced 1st Ranger Nim right in the eye. There was only time for the very beginning of a horribly strangled, gurgled cry. Blood coated the shaft. Her body tumbled backwards off the horse, the spear still lodged in her face, her blood still flowing out of her into the ground. The horse, free of its burden, galloped far from the chaos. There were others that Hanali saw in her periphery. Others who met similarly gruesome fates. The shouting took a different turn now, and the screams began.

The Crows had inflicted some casualties, but not enough. Most of her riders had avoided the tips of the spears and closed the gap. Their swords and axes were more effective here. Hanali slew one herself, a scared young man with a wispy blonde beard.

They might be green, but they seem to be taking to this business well. She thought to herself with a hint of relief over the din, This is just an inkling of what’s to come.

The two sides broke apart again, like two dancers, breathless, precise in their bloody choreography. Both sides were faltering, if one was to flee the other would be hard-pressed to keep up the pursuit. She pulled her horse next to the body of her comrade, the blood still streaming from the wound in her face, the lance jutting forth like a signpost. Hanali reached for the bow on her back.

“You and you, grab Sea Bass! We’re going--” Hanali suddenly felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. Her breath escaped her lungs as she rolled, half tumbling, off her horse. She saw the spear embedded in her side, saw the gout of blood spill onto the dark soil. She scrambled, unsteady, to her feet. Looking up she saw a rider bearing down on her, a sabre raised in the air. Quickly, unthinkingly, she pulled the spear from her side and, bracing herself, lifted the point into the oncoming rider. Spear shattered and horse and rider tumbled, crashing, over top of Hanali. She felt another splash of warmth from her side. As she surveyed the situation, she saw the rider dead next to her, and his horse with its legs broken, screaming in pain, on top of Nim. She felt for her bow, grabbing it and finding it miraculously undamaged.

“You two! Deal with that animal and get her out of here!” Hanali staggered over to her horse, the beast wild-eyed and rearing in terror. She grabbed for the quiver strapped to the side of the animal. She knew that the process of gathering Nim’s body would make her soldiers an enticing target.

If I pick off a few of them, I’ll be more trouble than it’s worth. She nocked an arrow and waited for the first rider to notice them. One of the enemy riders had turned towards them, thinking they would be an easy target. She let free the arrow, hitting the charging soldier in a gap in the armor. He collapsed in heap as his horse sped off. Another was coming as she drew another arrow from the quiver. He was dispatched with another well-placed arrow. His slumped body, still sat upon the horse, galloped by; His still gaping mouth was locked in a silent bloody scream. She ducked away from the horse. Readying herself again she saw another charging horse. Without an angle at the man astride it, she aimed her bow at the neck of the horse. It crumpled with a shriek. She heard the snapping of bones, the shrill cry of young man in pain. Nocking a final arrow she lurched over to him. Standing over him she saw the despair deep in his eyes. Unblinking, she pulled back and let the arrow go, ending him.

Her two soldiers had succeeded in killing the animal and getting Nim’s crumpled form out by this time. The lance had snapped in the collision, only four inches of it remained embedded in her eye socket. And still she bled. They threw her body on the back of another squadmate’s horse, a young, red-skinned tiefling. With that they sped off, Hanali clambering back onto her horse. The Crows did not pursue.

Both sides fled the field, leaving behind a field of corpses, and soon to be corpses. Their groaning, bleeding bodies lay among the green, broken stalks of grain. All in all, this was a meaningless skirmish.

The Vargans made it back to camp. Nim’s body had stopped bleeding. She still wore the locket around her neck, its bloodstained surface still glinting softly in the torchlight. As they set Nim’s lifeless body down by the doctor’s tent, Hanali and her squad gathered around. It was a somber mood. She knelt down and gently removed the locket. I’ll get this back to him, I promise. With that silent vow she pocketed it, ushered her soldiers to the mess area to eat a cold meal in silence. For the soldiers of Sagramor squad, the war had become real.