Tom Lloyd - The ragged man

'Exactly,' Daken said with a sudden gleam in his eye, 'no one in their right mind would try it!'

Dassai laughed, realising what Daken had in mind, and ran to give the orders.

There was barely a grumble from the soldiers as they changed positions, despite the hardships Daken had already put them through. They knew the end was in sight, and one final victory under the gaze of King Emin and his troops, that'd be a good note to go out on.

An hour later and the smile was gone from Dassai's face. Even Daken looked tense as the two men and a scout lay on their bellies on the hill's southern side. Each had a green scarf tied around his neck, the nearest to uniform they possessed.

'How close do you want them?' Dassai asked through the steel grille of his visor.

'Close,' Daken growled, refusing to be any more specific. Less than a mile away three legions were heading straight for them, following the easiest path as they led the way for the rest of the army. They hadn't sent scouts any further ahead – Daken had weaned them off that particular habit several weeks back by leaving a dozen of his best archers in his wake at every obstacle. Now the Menin only marched en masse now, despite the slower pace.

'That looks close to me, General,' the scout said cautiously. He knew Daken wasn't a stickler for protocol, but his bouts of good humour and informality never fully masked the fact that he was a white-eye and dangerous to predict.

'Me too,' Daken declared, his voice husky at the prospect of the violence to come. 'Far enough to think, close enough not to think so hard.'

They wriggled back until they were out of sight, then leapt to their feet and joined the remaining legion. There were more than a thousand men, and Daken could see they were ready: unafraid, and as keen to shed Menin blood as he. The white-eye stood in his stirrups, raised his axe, and gave the signal, leading them down to the lower edges of the hill, where the slope was shallow enough to keep their formation, but still gave them some protection.

When they caught sight of the enemy, the troops gave an unprompted roar of defiance – one that was repeated as Daken raised his blood-streaked axe above his head and added his own voice.

The troops stared at each other, no more than three hundred yards apart, and close enough that Daken could make out the colours on their flags. One was white, the other two black: a Litse and two Menin light cavalry legions. The main bulk of the army was further back, almost a mile behind the advance guard.

'Looks like you were right, General,' Dassai commented, 'the main body has slowed down: our decoy legions have won us some space to work with.'

'Aye, fucking genius I am,' Daken muttered, watching the nearer legions intently.

The enemy clattered to a ragged halt while their commander decided what to do. Their lines were tight; no doubt to keep them ordered and under control, but it wouldn't help them with what Daken had planned.

'Get us close enough, then give 'em a volley, let's see if we can help 'em make up their minds,' he told the marshal, who yelled the command.

The legion advanced slowly, arrows notched, bolts loaded and ready to fire. To the enemy it must have appeared they were still trying to induce a pursuit, moving cautiously enough to flee at a moment's notice. They stood their ground and watched the Narkang cavalry approach, content to wait for them to get too close.

Dassai looked askance at Daken; the white-eye was sitting hunched in his saddle, fingers tight around the stained leather grip of his axe. As he gave the order to fire he saw Daken taking deep breaths, and his face slowly broke out into a manic grin. The arrows struck and he saw several men fall from their horses, and a few of the beasts themselves reared and kicked out in pain.

'One more volley,' Daken growled through bared teeth. He slipped the half-helm onto his head and watched as the horses continued walking forward all the while, closing the ground slowly and steadily.

Dassai gave the order, wondering idly whether his general would remember to give the order, or if he would just charge out all alone – that was perfectly possible, after all. The second volley killed more, and the reply from the Litse horsemen fell short, the angle of the slope and the wind against them.

'Move, you lazy fuckers,' someone commented from Dassai's left, 'maybe you'll get close enough to hit something smaller than a hill.' As Daken laughed out loud the marshal turned to see the speaker was a squadron captain, probably the most experienced man in the entire legion.

As bidden, the Litse began to edge closer, one block of cavalry on the left flank moving forward to a better position. Dassai felt a surge of anticipation as he saw the Litse advance, the slope taking them away from their allies.

'Fuckers just dog-legged themselves!' Daken announced loudly. 'That's enough fer me; charge, you mad bastards!' The white-eye spurred his horse hard and the beast leaped forward as Daken raised his axe.

Marshal Dassai's own mount followed out of instinct, as did those around him, and even before he'd had a chance to repeat the order hundreds were already charging.

Following the general's lead, the young marshal urged his horse faster, a javelin held ready. With the slope on their side the distance dwindled with shocking speed and as Dassai hurled his javelin, closely followed by those around him, he saw the shock their charge had already caused. The Litse left flank was still trying to advance, while the right flank was trying to turn and withdraw to the safety of the main body of men, but as he pulled his sabre free, Dassai could see it was too late, there would be no avoiding their charge.

Daken barrelled directly into the exposed right wing of the Litse, screaming unintelligible curses. An arrow caught him in the upper arm, but he barely had time to notice before his horse had ploughed straight into the pale ranks of the enemy. An extended crash followed moments later as the rest of the troops arrived, but Daken was lost to his blood-rage. His horse battered a path through the first rank, and as its padded chest smashed against the first, throwing the rider from his saddle, Daken's axe missed the man by a whisker. The white-eye whirled around and hacked down at the next, his axe shattering the soldier's small shield and continuing through his chest.

Daken wrenched the weapon back and struck right as his horse pushed deeper into the Litse ranks. The next was felled as easily as the first, then he felt a horse smash against his own beast and before he could turn, an arm grabbed at his, nearly pulling him from the saddle. The white-eye, screaming curses, hauled back and the moment he felt the man's grip give he jabbed over-arm with the butt of his axe and shattered the man's cheekbone.

He raised the weapon again and saw a moment of pure terror on the face of the Litse before the curved blade chopped down into the side of his head and blood exploded everywhere, soaking Daken's face. The white-eye swore and shook his head, trusting his men to protect him as he blinked the gore away.

Dassai, seeing his commander in need, moved in to cover him, but as his sabre glanced off a Litse's shield, he realised it wasn't even necessary – the Litse were barely even trying to fight back. He looked around and realised it was the same everywhere; they were struggling against their own in a frantic bid to escape. Half of the Narkang men had already pushed through the gap as the wing collapsed under their assault and were wheeling around to hit the centre Menin legion in their flank.

He stood tall in his stirrups, but still couldn't see much more than a chaotic swirl of figures as the black livery and flashes of green tore deeper into the enemy ranks.

'Watch your back!' roared a voice beside him, and as Dassai turned the head of an enemy soldier was snapped backwards as Daken lunged and caught him in the throat with the spike of his axe.